In Time

I'll be remembered in history,

Dying in fame,

All of the weary,

Will all know my Name.

Yet death is a blind man,

Corrupted by men,

Doesn't distinguish,

And doesn't know when...

...A man may be innocent,

Not guilty of crime,

Only lost and confused,

Wrong place and wrong time.

Grief-Stricken with sorrow,

Hovering over the scene,

No hope of tomorrow,

But my hands were clean.

Sirens wailing about,

My hands drenched in red,

Beginning to shout,

T'was not blood I shed.

And I glanced upon the limp body below,

Only her and the angels would know,

Death was not to be my maker.

Hell is where another will go.

In time.

But not me.

No.

Soon,

I will break myself free.