He just sits, shield in one hand, pistol in the other/
The father of the soldiers his country had harbored/
The flag in on his chest, Teflon, a bulletproof vest/
”God, is this to be my final test?” Nerves don’t let him rest/
He just sits, the only room occupied in the whole skyscraper/
On the top of the roof, where it will be much safer/
The only skyscraper occupied on the whole block/
The whole city’s on lock, as the soldiers search/
Through every corner, the birds sit still on their perch/
Observing, so calm and so unnerving, below the gray sky/
They are on the bottom floor, open door, nobody can say why/
The want him dead, they want what’s on his head/
The mask, it’s their task to retrieve it safely/
They need someone else in his place, to ensure safety/
They are on the second floor, the mask is needed to restore the illusion/
The Hero didn’t want the seclusion, his death is the conclusion/
The way to keep civilians delusion that everything is fine/
His mind knows too much, he crossed the governmental line/
He dug too deep, stepped too steep, and here truth doesn’t hurt/
Truth kills and murders all those that do not wish to convert/
To the state, the illusion that it’s safe, the curtain beneath which/
The government hides the truths, the poor die from the rich/
They are on floor thirty four, all doors are gone/
A tear wets his mask if glory, rage reminds him that it’s on/
The serum they injected in him now boils/
He couldn’t manage to make their plans foil/
A picture of his wife and a little baby girl/
They were his life and his entire world/
He crumples it in his fingers, emotions linger in his head/
Floor sixty nine, everything was fine, now they are all dead/
He could swear, that he can feel her touch and he could smell her hair /
”Oh God! It’s going to be okay honey, just don’t breathe the air!”/
Gassed to death, just like he will be/
Once they get past the floor seventy three/
Floor seventy four, now he is sure of how he became/
Memories of pain and his awakening in the pouring rain/
The first man he had slain, so many more and so far/
He was just a product of his own government’s war/
As they get past floor seventy seven he feels closer to heaven/
They picked him for the project “Hero” when he was only eleven/
He was meant to inspire national fire, fight for what’s right/
Keep his people blinded, while they would conspire during night/
Floor ninety nine, and rockets destroy everything around him/
Gas fills up the room, he finds himself surrounded/
By battalions of soldiers he taught to never miss/
He once commanded them to divide and conquer, eternal bliss/
Now gives him it’s soulful kiss, what once loved is now hated/
A young sergeant leans to his radio, whispering “Target eliminated”/
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