The Deed

The Deed

The man that lives upon the hill is dead
The gray weathered hands shall not wring anymore
No breaths are taken; no words can be said
Never again will he walk out that door
We all know you never meant to do it
Mostly an accident; all of a crime
But the real criminals just won't admit,
We are all victims of culture this time
In this walk of life it will follow you
A speak of darkness shadowing the light
In your new chapters it remains a glue
Holding on to the old chapters too tight
The ending of life does not go un-checked
Sins of the past will leave future lives wrecked