Only eighteen years an death has already come, no warning,no sign,not a single sound.

Laying in the street with my congregation,my fallen brother’s graves,ashes to dust,dust to coals.

From the pain in my soul not a single silent word, until my rotting body stirred.

I saw people I never knew, laughed and danced, yell jubilant things,irony do to mistrust nobody will help spare a thought for me.

A single, solitary lonely being,confusion from images of tall dark burning skyscrapers.

Needled fingers beg to crawl, as I believing there will be next time remember what brought me here to my death bed

With anger and time to reflect hours into days,days into weeks clarity a constant, this lonely child,so cold and blue.

My brothers lifeless forms lay with me in metropolis city are new home.

Surrounded by hells new rat race,becoming limp while thoughts move freely,

numbers in my pocket I promised I’d keep in touch,It numbs me. Somewhere within pain I cry causing me to reminisce.

Remember loving things what I use to know?

Covered in this morning dew,welted skin stained with red satin velvet.

A man with a bag of crosses starts singing life’s last call,

his words may be are last song

- “Set them Free”.