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.