Wars are no longer fought on distant grounds,
Tears flow down both Victors' and victims' faces
And runners run whether happy or sad.
But you,
Where do you run,
Do you see your victims' tears,
Do you hear their groan
As they make their metaphysical sacrifices,
And lose their souls to demons brought by your hunger

You have no way to deal,
No more hearts to steal,
No pain to feel,
No plans,
No regrets,
Just confusion.
So what's your plan?
Other than to call me?

Me,
To guide you out of the maze,
A canoe to carry you across this acidic river of your own creation,
What's left to do for one without a plan,
Other than to call the fixer,
To wade you through the muck,
And onto a path of safety,
Where innocence and happiness lingers,
Patiently waiting for the destruction of your touch...