This strange glowing red light at the end.
It comes nearer and nearer to where I stand.
It fills me with sense I cannot comprehend.
Temp me to do it again out of my own expend.
It burns me slowly and gently from the inside.
Causing smokes to flow out from me with pride.
It is an exposure of class that needs not to hide.
Because the light I abide is my death guide.
Like a priest who sinned.
He cries and blushes within.
He puts a mask with thorns that pinned.
To hide his shame among his kin.
The pain in his face hurts not much
Than the pain in his heart that makes him dread.
His shame is heavy enough to break his crutch
That could make him put a bullet into his empty head.
What man could bare such pain?
What man would taste this vinegar?
What can a person seriously gain
When his soul is painfully scar?
