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It seems I am wishing on the farthest star
To achieve what I, alone have earned,
The destruction of what once was home,
seems like a faraway memory, instead of a tomb.
I miss the hunger-smells, and the deathless soil
lively and untouched by the tyrannical hand,
I should've known
that I was wishing on the farthest star
in this lonely night sky,
where family is torn apart at the seams,
and little stars burn out,
and big Suns explode.
I am the slow burning fuse planted 'neath the earth of my home
Ne'er did they find the core of the tick, tick, ticks of time burning,
For the final bow was inevitable,
and this home of ours was never meant to be,
I am this slow-burning fuse,
Forever, lay the scent of TNT.
...Now, the reminiscent stench of gunpowder,
Clings to my coat like an old friend,
that once stabbed me in the back some time ago,
I frown when this sweater of mine smells of cigarette smoke,
The last remaining memory from Before,
tainted with the poignant, lingering smell of who I have come to be,
I chose this path myself,
Please, do not follow me.