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Who? I.
Tis a poem, but it ain't very good, man.
I.
Who's to blame for this unholy war but I?
Who brought shame upon the world but I?
Who lingers in a crowded but I?
To fester in her misery, you wait for her to die.
Who waits in silence at night but I?
For a miracle to soar across the tattered sky?
Who rides on the waves of her tears but I?
She tries to spread her wings to fly.
Who tore apart the moon but I?
Who blackened out the stars but I?
The world is my telescope and you are my eye,
And my soul is the mystery on which I shall spy.
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