Just another face in a faceless crowd
drifting through throngs but he is alone
a nervous sweat, a trembling hand
the dying thoughts of a cornered man
the nameless, hopeless, drifting by
oblivious, that it's their time to die

your deaths erase his pain
a passing eased by those he maims
no silence, no angels stealing flight
from perfect to death-bringing light

so many erased in a second, reduced to a memory
undone by an instant of selfish killing need

lives put out by flying spite
bodies recoil, scattered like leaves
targetless murder, take whom you please
no smoke no flames, just a hail of debris
against its cruel claws all flesh must yield

against the white light of divining it seems
all flesh turns black and death is revealed
is this the hand of god or the fist of defeat
that one shall thus kill as the only release?

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