They lead him down the dark hallway
as he slowly walks for his final day.

This man is truely society's vent.
Guilty his verdict, but of the crime: innocent.

The truth of the crime only the man could tell:
When the robber came up from firey hell.

The gun was loaded the boots were black,
when the robber shot the man's wife in the back.

The man ran to his wife with a dart,
but it was no use, the bullet had pierced her heart.

The robber placed the gun against the man's head.
The man only kneeled, he wanted to be dead.

The man could not find the will to fight for his life.
All he could think of was his loved, dead wife.

The robber laughed and lowered his gun,
the man was broken, the robber had won.

The robber then ran far away,
the man wondered how he could live another day.

The man had no time to wonder if the robber had once been his friend,
before the police showed up to begin the man's end.

His defense for the trial was very dim.
Even his own friends testified against him.

On the stand he looked rather wilty,
his own lawyer thought he was guilty.

Now the man is being strapped to the chair.
He can't do anything except think its not fair.

The executioner is ready to pull the switch,
the man just sits there, he does not even flinch.

The man no longer cares about his life, not really.
He just wants his friends to know he didn't kill dear Lilly.

But the man finds out the difference between want and necessity,
is five thousand volts of electricity.

Magestic, thoughtful, beautiful. Such words are meaningless to it. It watches us move about...what fools we must appear to a rose. As we change from one thing to another, the rose invests its entire life in growing and living. How rewarding it must be.

Its sweet smell is not from the praise we give it, but from its simple existance; its self. As we fight and destroy one another the rose lives and grows. It is steadfast in its purpose and cannot be detered. Even if we pick them or step on them, they never try to harm us in spiteful revenge.

Roses are neither greedy nor jealous, hating nor lustful, vengeful nor vicious. Yet they have so much power. They live without complaint, rage, or regret. There are so many different kinds or roses, yet they all live and grow togther. We could learn so much from a rose.....

The building quivers in the lamp light. The freezing lava runs through its cement veins. The wind picks up and the building looks helplessly at the squirrel. The wind rushes on and on until it passes the sun.

The stars look down upon the building where grass used to enjoy growing.
But now the river of clocks trickles by instead. As time itself is slowed down to say goodbye, the building looks back at the black sun, which is enjoying the smell of music.

The light now ignores the building all together. Even if reality noticed it, it was to be unnoticed. This world was tired of standing, and the building stopped listening. The end came and went, and the building still struggles against the sands.

One More Time