A voice entrapped inside pleas to be let out
The cries sound to him, a falling feather in a gun fight
Chains constructed by society help to maintain the plight
Of the voice meant to guide, now lets us drift down the route
With the man who lacks a path to follow, no map on his quest
He floats around and wanders, no direction in life
His compass, his savior, a needle, a knife
Now a still beating heart pumps dead in his chest

On the fog shrouded path, he wants the man promising lies
His family cries as he strolls idly by, few try to halt him and grasp at his feet
But he sees nothing but ghosts as his eyes are covered in a crystallized sheet
With his family past and forgotten, only one thing can stop the pursuit of the highs

Alone in the blackness, he welcomes the last day
All the guns have stopped firing, his body withered, expiring
He lies riddled in wounds from his needless desiring
As he enters the void, he noticed the feather had gone and drifted away.