He stands there,
knees wobbling and sweat dripping from his hair,
he feels the pain and wishes he didn't care.
He looks around
His vision can't recognize his own town;
these streets are his favorite ground,
but he feels like he can't even make a sound,
and when he realizes his opportunity is gone
he knows he can't wait 'til dawn
just to start
to get outta this lot
named "Live-For-Not"
but he forgot
that he's already given all that he's got;
he feels like he's caught,
his thoughts twisted into a knot,
a solution's what he sought,
but now that doesn't matter;
he doesn't care if he gets any sadder
because he eats sorrow off a platter
as he hears the pitter-patter
of his own tears
or is it his sweat?
maybe it's his blood,
because you know he's shed all those and more
just to satisfy this yearning in his core.