Time, yet another entity,
that passes him by,
He's losing his identity,
which he still denies...
He wants his sleep and gets it,
but doesn't know when,
He knows it all but won't admit,
and there's his pen,
again.....
He's writing and writing,
but then he falls back to sleep,
He gets up and under the lighting,
he writes, but, nothing deep....
He talks about the times,
when he gets all lonely,
He thinks about the crimes,
and thinks......if only...
He remembers when it got to him,
the memory haunts him still,
that fight, that night, grim,
was no small a thrill....
Its back again, and as they say,
History repeats itself,
His crimes again, he has to weigh,
and again, renounce himself.
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