Coda

my voice did not rise up against the clanging of the bell
I crawled under the crossfire of nations of hells
my face did not show signs of scars
of many nights I'd known
of blackness against blackness, never to be recalled
my eyes were not spared the cost of drinking I had done
and though I shot em down like birds on a fence
my hands would not lift up against the beating I received
my bad luck ran in spades and gathered at my back,
a black ocean of waves
well, nothing ever changes after innocence is lost
for a slew of taking chances I must pay the cost
and how far has it got me? and what have I to show?
for all the blood-filled eyes to cry :
'and this too shall go,
and this too shall go'