h o r n of n
They call him a weakling
Human error, trash, a good-for-nothing
An outcast, a singled out life
A lost cause, a famed pariah...
A battered heart and a broke soul
Kneeling at the edge of the cliff
Should he end it with a bliss?
So he takes another whiff
Foul air- provoking, goading
Kiss goodbyes the lost world of ugly reality
The converging pictures of fleeting yesteryears
It is time to take the leap
Where he will lay as a carcass
And death feeds upon it