He sits with a pen in his fist
staring at the paper
black ink spilling from his lips
writing as he speaks
a parting message
we are all the walking wounded
created on this earth
and from that moment of birth
we wander shell shocked on the earth
taking one step
then the next
until we fall
to knees that are to weak to carry the weight
of sin
of love
of hate
and we all wonder why
when the answer lays there
beneath our stumbling feet
o what a tragedy
shame that when we cannot see
we blame
tell me why do we claim love?
when the tongue tastes of hate?
they say life is no game
so live it up
then why do we play
with chance cards and die
we bet with the devil
sell our souls to see what it brings?
addiction crawls up your spine
leave everyone and everything behind
the very wings that gave you flight
you leave discarded
like they are nothing but garbage
winding weaving narrow or straight
pick your path quick now seal your fate
we all do it sometime
then line up at the gate
and then, well then its to late
he folds the paper
places it near his desk
then closes his eyes
and lay to rest
knowing that he was to late
but maybe
he would save one from the same fate
