Revision as of 05:37, 9 August 2020 by RabbiBob
Summary: A short poem based on Goose’s thoughts about his childhood.
When the last drop of crimson falls from the mortal rend
When the last drop of sweat dries and scatters on the wind
When the last of the breath rattles from our bodies
Then who will remember this, our bitter end?
They say we have no souls, no spirits to be bent
They say that we aren't human, just an experiment
They say that we aren't worth a tear to be shed
But I remember people, come to a bitter end.
They only gave us names because they forgot the numbers
They only gave us pain and killing for our hungers
They say we're just gene-samples, nothing more inside
But I know we are people, born to a bitter end.
I know the fear and scorn and hatred that have scarred us
I know the pain and rage we hide within our minds
But I'll never let them see the wounds there inside me
Never let them see the tears for the bitter end.
Why must it always come down to the bitter end?