Some Stuff
With the blow of the bullet,
And the drop of the gun,
I have become,
An unknown culprit,
To the ever rising calamity,
That's brought me to insanity,
From which I cannot escape,
Or even think to run from,
So I've hid under death's drape,
While held in the delerium,
Of a job undone,
For which I am shun,
To be as miniscule as a crumb,
That's stepped on by the cimson,
Ever drawing out defeat,
As stepped on by the cleat,
Of the oblivious,
And the ignorant,
That become vicious,
In their tyrant,
Over the scared and inferior,
That dared to explore,
The forgotten feelings,
Of the numbed minds,
In hopes of healings,
Of their own binds.
And the drop of the gun,
I have become,
An unknown culprit,
To the ever rising calamity,
That's brought me to insanity,
From which I cannot escape,
Or even think to run from,
So I've hid under death's drape,
While held in the delerium,
Of a job undone,
For which I am shun,
To be as miniscule as a crumb,
That's stepped on by the cimson,
Ever drawing out defeat,
As stepped on by the cleat,
Of the oblivious,
And the ignorant,
That become vicious,
In their tyrant,
Over the scared and inferior,
That dared to explore,
The forgotten feelings,
Of the numbed minds,
In hopes of healings,
Of their own binds.