And I know where my happiness lies;
My salvation unfolds before my eyes.
I anticipate feverishly, the morning of evil's demise
Thus my pen shall never run dry until it is realized,
Until I obtain true justification for this sacrifice.
Devastated and cornered though they may be,
Our outcome is tied to their outcome by destiny’s strings.
Our survival is as slim as the vapor of their dying breath.
If we forget them, who we are perishes in their death.
Cause the tragedy is not to die but to be wasted.
Daily, the fate of thousands arrive upon a nightmare,
Spun out like the thread of a graphic horror story.
Day and night their pastime is a game called terror and fear.
Our organs rot and decay and all we do is drag our feet;
They live on the edge of death, blinded by tears.
“The summer has passed
The harvest has ended
But we are not saved.”