Born in the city streets,
He walks a path that encourages defeat,
But he'll never give up till his dying breath,
He's all this city has left.
When I need him in times of strife,
He's my hand, he's the knife.
He's the hero I'll never find,
In the words of Cobain,
Oh well, whatever, nevermind.
In death he's faced,
The blood on the sythe he's traced,
Back to the day they took his Mother
Gun shots awash in city hall,
The fall of the child,
The rise of a devil.
Straight out of a comic book came his legend,
My imagination swells and with it i delve,
Into every word and page,
I soak up the marrow freeing me from my cage;
This bedroom,
This street,
The School Social Elite,
Its gone with every word,
In the real world they'll never know defeat.
In the real,
Every page is sealed,
I know not my fate,
My hero... He's too late. |
