Voices

A million times I've pulled the trigger.

A million times the voices quiver,

but every time they come again.

They can't be killed, there is no end.

 

Is all then lost, no hope at all?

Of course there is, by means so small.

For somewhere in this empty soul

the threads of who I am control.

 

Shear will exerted, through the fray

the voices flee as I do and say

that which is right, denying me.

My only hope for sanity.

My only hope eternally.

Will I be them... or will I be me?