  If I were to swing down the masses,  and let my tears flood their gates,  would anything change,  would they see my pain,  would they drink what iniquity had followed,  Is my blood any different,
 her pale flesh,  beauty only harnessed by the light basked in it,  her lips only dangling,  waiting,  knowing they have future purpose,  fingers bent by the cruelty of time,
 forced to grab what light touches them,  holding onto whatever they can,  each one passing,  knowing,  they wait,  knowing,
 one day the day will come,  and none will fall 
