I’m not a hero, nor a saviour.
Just a guy trying to flee his bad behaviour.
For its a symptom, of my disease.
Result of a mind that’s filled with pure sleaze.
That’s why I never come to the rescue.
Cause I’m the self prick in the shadow.
What a state I’ve got myself into.
Such a husk that I can’t continue.
Warped sense of what I could have been.
If only I wasn’t such a fucking selfish being.
A cape will never be my brand.
Instead I will burn this flag to earn land.
Sell out my family just to get ahead.
Watch them as they each become dead.
Showing no emotion for my loss.
Cause I’m a monster who accepts the cost.
This is the position I bought my way too.
Reduced to bones that can’t do shit.
Twisted mind that was only ever sick.
That’s why I did absolutely nothing.
Sacrifice is what those who are noble do.
While I hide and let them be butchered down to their pleas.
All I smell is disease.
It sticks to my skin.
That I’m writhing in.
For I am the fiend.
Sad and unclean.
Who gave up his loves.
Saw them turned into food for grubs.
I’m not a hero and I will never be,
Anything but a zero.
A craven sack of rotting wannabe.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 