When tossing a coin that'll choose for me my life,
My grandfather spoke...
It was a quiet yet monumental sentence
"Be the journalist of a dying race"
My brain melted away in thought
I didn't look if the coin was heads
Or tails; I let it fall on its side.
I let the air go stale and choke my lungs.
In that moment my life slowed to one thought
my grandfather is the most intelligent gentleman to ever grace this earth and look how the world repays him.
Give him health or give me death.
Let him sip upon immortality
Let him tell, but not force his views on others for hundreds of years to come
But do not let him suffer in the chains of our race.
Do not let any of us suffer any more.