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 !