Cost of blood...

Today when he's lying on the floor,
counting down his death every second
totally immobilized.....
he can hear the song never heard
he can see visions he never saw.
Experiencing the familiar mental illusion.
One of the thousand illegimate guys,
neither a doctor nor a scientist
neither an engineer not an army.
Did anyone of us bother to know?
Did any of us wanted to hear?
Why he chose the toughest path,
wasn't his ambition or aim.
He recalls every single moment,
the way his teacher squeezed his ears,
if only he had won his part.
Some people thought he was hopeless.
Never a single night passed,
without his tormentor master's fire.
The brutal acts of his tormentor,
who tore up the pages to pieces,
in which he scribbled jocund notes.
The nights his shirt got soaked with tears,
every single moments clear as crystal.
I don't remember a single moment,
when he cursed God for his fate.
He rotates round his blurring eyes.
As he can see his blood,
paving it's way through a narrow corner.
When a dog observes him silently,
smells the gunpowder in his finger.
Soon it turns back and retreats...
without a single word or a glance back at him.
I don't know by which gang,
he got himself hit.
The only thing I remember is,
the sound of his merry notes.
The way he used to lick his supper clean,
without leaving even a morsel of it.
In this labyrinth he got himself lost,
he never knew,
how much his blood would cost...

Always by,
Neo.