Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26444017-20180905233106/@comment-7673575-20180906112504

Okay, so: here's the redux I said I'd do. Mostly to trim surplus words or add new ones to maintain the flow, but I have also rewritten a few verses from the scratch:

It is not my fault your loved ones die. For everyone fears when the end is nigh. When men are shattered and their limbs fly The blame lies not with me.

A tool of death in careless hands, That crush the worlds and plow the lands, And spill the souls like desert sands The souls that I must see.

I long to go where those spirits do, To be free of fate I’m shackled to, To give mankind a peace that's true But I'll never be set free.

My role's eternal, and so's my life, To be the one who bears the strife. The wrath, the pain, gun, sword, and knife That brings all hope to knee.

Your world of flame, your world of smog Your lungs shall fill, your oceans clog, And eat away like a rabid dog, But the blame lies not with me.

The lazy hands and greedy hearts, That rip nature to bleeding parts When all the while the rotting starts And devours all to see.

My name is tied to the evil ones, Forever bound to their daughters and sons, And sung in songs of swords and guns. Shaded beneath the withered tree.

These monsters claim that I'm to blame, A hungry beast no man can tame, The entity of death and flame. But they created me.

It is not my fault that your money's gone, Rendered worthless by the order of one, Who cannot repair the damage done. No, the blame lies not with me.

I am fed and fueled by mounds of cash While those around are turned to ash, And the hopes of those that live are dashed By consequence of frivolity.

To the streets the lost people turn, Their worthless bills now tinder to burn. The Depression comes, for you to learn The horrid curse of poverty.

Fallen figures of good and kind, Strike deeper than the blade, I find. Failures of the power-mad remind Of how ruthless life can be.

It is not my fault that fear has spread, That the living soon will join the dead, Not a single word spoke I to dread. No, the blame lies not with me.

The memory that scars them still That I bestowed, but not by will, Still writhes and worms, devouring its fill 'Til broken visions are reality.

(I would eliminate this previous verse altogether: it's really out of sync and nothing can be done to fix it)

The men that brave or flee from pain And return back home to loved again, Still bear my mark upon the brain Where no one else can see.

For he is lost in world unseen. One that lurks within his dreams, And wakes to shred him at the seams, Leaving but a husk of he

This is the burden that I bear, That I am forced at once to stare Into the hopeless dark despair That has come because of me.

I wanted none of this for you. I want mankind to gaze into A future bright and peaceful and new. One that I can never see...

I say I carry not the blame, But truth is that I wear the shame, That comes from bearing of the name Of War, for that is me.

Forevermore I walk the path, Of fragile life destroyed by wrath, Of broken man and psychopath, And wade through bloody sea.

I want, above else, to be set free, And I pray my death resides with thee, And hope these words brought you to see, That truly the blame lies not with me.

I hope that this doesn't come of as too pretentious: I just wanted to help the flow of this song.