Silence, all I can hear,
My heart is beating,
My fists are clenched,
Movement, I strike!

Why did I choose these fists of mine,
To fight my battles for me?
Why do I use this hidden strength,
To make all of my foes flee?

Why do I like the sudden thrill,
That fills me when I dive?
And why is this unknown power,
The thing that I do thrive?

I've pondered over it many nights,
To try and find a reason,
What is next? Murder? Theft?
Will I use my fists for treason?

I do not know who or what,
Will be my next poor victim,
Will it be friend? Will it be foe?
The future is so dim.

But for now, I fight for justice,
I fight for what is right.
But is that really the only reason,
Why I choose to fight?

Perhaps I want to be the hero,
To be adored and cheered,
Perhaps I want the tough guy image,
To be frightened of and feared.

Perhaps I want to prove myself,
I'm not a chicken-wuss!
I'll show them all that I can be,
A lion, not a puss.

But then I think of all the times,
I've used my fists for good.
Confusion spreads all over me,
I'm scared. I know I should,

Be grateful of this power,
Or a curse, it is not clear.
I just don't know what to think,
About my fists of fear.