Terror again in the West as young men walk into death for a story.
And I ask myself do I have a story,
A story I’d die for.
My society has given me everything
Every single breath, means nothing:
Without a story.
I cannot blame those greedy men, who sit around tables plotting our doom,
Who we call the leaders of the West,
The angels of death.
I cannot blame them for the absence,
Or the staleness.