Tears are the only price I can pay
in memory of them. It’s the only thing I can give in penitence
I don’t deserve it! It’s nothing but sacrilege to go out there and celebrate, earning all their congratulations and respects, being treated like I did some great deed. I’m no hero
I’m nothing but a murderer! How can I pretend to be what they make me out to be when all I can remember is the faces of the people I’ve killed?
I sigh in defeat and stare with the fascination of a child at the full face of the silver moon handing in the ebony skies above
surrounded by the brilliance of thousands, countless thousands, of shimmering stars,
making a wish to soon after prepare and know I’ll be
embracing once more my game of pretend.