Different
In the sky, lightning,
Flashing as bright as steel when it soars through the air.
Thousands flock to the streets,
You wish you were like them sometimes; living their lives without a care.
Sometimes you feel you're almost there,
Your hands streaked with dirt from the roses.
But then your hands are stained with blood,
From a mission someone composes.
The death of a man, whoever it is,
A sin only yours to be damned with.
This blood always on your hands,
A reminder of the destiny you were born with.
Sometimes you feel so alone,
Even looking in a comrade's eyes.
For each of their stories are different,
Each has a different reason for why each man dies.
Memories that are recalled one by one,
Like pieces falling into a puzzle so new.
Your life missing bits and pieces,
Here and there a clue works itself to your view.
Do any of them forget their past?
Do any of them feel so lost?
Do any of them long for their story?
Do any of them yearn for it at any cost?
So young and yet so old,
Your soul stained with this life.
Forced to grow up so fast,
Your soul so acquainted with strife.
Let these sins be forgiven you,
Yet you can never plead ignorance.
These tears you shed in this ultimate pain,
Every night you beg for deliverance.