Fray The Strings

My friends slowly turn to foe,
Every ounce of energy, every second,
Completely wasted, I feel so low.

The sacred ground here seems broken,
There was a time when my dreams felt real,
I'll leave my carcass, as a token.

Again, Rather die a maryter than a hero,
Bring your sick god, tell him I'm wrong,
Common, Make me better than zero.

Ian Robert Potapoff