The sun was high in New York city, Everyone's head was in their hands
There was only the sound of blatant confusion, no drinking songs or club bands.
The scene had been one dark and gruesome, an act torn through with deep despair,
and as the word tore through the through lines, we could do naught but stop and stare.
Our land hosted a beast of a house call, something only left said and done.
And as we wrapped our minds around it, we knew for a moment they had won.

--
Lives are lost for what conclusion? Ideas still run through men's heads.
Our friends, our brothers, and the aquainted - they know not for why these have come.
And what to say for those behind them - Where does it start, where do we get off?
They tear it up to spit us out, they reign superior to a fault.
--

A legend's found dead in his apartment, the news reports hesitate with a lie.
Where is any truth found today? With whom can anyone safely confide?
My mind has found a python of a container - a place where an idea cannot grow.
A life in which in failure is solute, and where to find solace no one can know.
To offer up unguided direction - is to lead a flock to the precipice,
But to fall down, following, unthinking - is to be lead by an iron fist.

--
Our lives are lost to what conclusion? Ideas still run through men's heads.
Our friends, our brothers, and the aquainted - they know not for why this has come.
And what to say for those behind this? Where does it start, where do we get off?
We tear it up to spit ourselves out. We reign superior to a fault.
--

_/Parker Llyn Edwards/>