the sun sets behind me as I eye my enemy
reflecting flares from the fire off his holster's holding
the saints signal to me their failure to be the Christ
in the earnestness of understanding I squeeze until it slows
he was a meandering man much the same as me
from wasteland of wombs and frightened fatherly figures
grown on green goblins and dark dreary nights of kings
born of borrowed courage coupled with the wretched wishes of the angels
and he is dead
I longingly look over my left shoulder to see something sacred
a tower full of times and tables and telltale signs of life
heaven help me and all the hallowed heroes from hell
swearing sins don't save the souls in the bodies of soldiers

i don't even know what the hell i'm doing anymore...