When you pressed that trigger on me,

When your bullet walked to my fate,

While you were closing in on my end,

Something was chasing your end too.

You thought you were a martyr, glee in war,

But with the metal in arms you were just a tool,

For the master who conceived in you

A cog in this war, a proxy machine

Your delusion carved, end perceived

Your virtue being your uselessness

For you were a hand, used and chopped

That held no value in his grand design

Just a foot soldier !