Yet Untitled

I am death, and you are dead
Your lives do weigh upon my head;
I am dead, and you are death
My gunshot ends my final breath.

For me, I do not wish to live,
I have not a life to give;
Your hatred isolated me,
I was undead - but not then free.

Who then struck the killing blow?
The fatal bullet that laid you low?
Or those that did not let me live,
To taste sweet life upon my lips?

What is love, peace, respect?
Who're the ones that will be next?
The nation of the living dead,
Doth fill the living with blackest dread;

The solution: no quarantine;
Let the living dead be free,
No longer outcasts, free to be,
Living, loving, you and me.



(C) Copyright 1983
Jeremy Stringer
All Rights Reserved

I do not condone, for any reason, the killing of one person by another.