If you wount give, who will? Why should I?

Unleashed a midnight lit torch fight of literary proportions
Of orphans and flash bombs and insane masses
Baying for my blood, as if I could bring deliverance
if my throat was slit, and I drop my blood bit by bit

Leading the crowd through the painted streets
to remind us we are already dead inside
Inciting the crowd against me, for your sins
of appeasement, to somehow feel better about
your state and situation, mostly your
hardheadedness that landed us in this
mire of never ending retaliation

I give up! Pause and turn to face the
crowd of murderers, given up as I know
once my heart stops, somebody else
will beat for you, same as my legs
give off its last twitch, someone
else will crawl for you - grovel for you

Scream in my despair for never giving
up the fight but losing anyways

As soon as another voice rises up to
replace mine, I will whisper my last:

Fuck you