I am not a poet
I don’t know how to use my words the way they can
I can’t captivate the minds of my friends by stringing them along with the simplest of words
I am not a musician
I will never make it in a field
Where those push each other further and further down
To be the next one at the top
I stood in the crowd
My feet cemented to the ground
Just basking in the light of something that would slowly fade
I could hear the high pitched ringing
A reminder of a past days sacrifice
It echoes loud when you call my name
Hear it ring out from the inside
Going back to that different place
And I‘ll make it out this time
Dear Mr. Hero
Have you won the last war?
Oh Mr. Hero
Have you caught him before?
He isn’t a sinner
But he’ll contemplate
Doing something a good man
Won’t do
How about you?
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