Dripping is the blood on my hands,
killing them where each of them stands.
The never ending war of missions ahead,
countless litres of blood my hands have bled.
The flashes of kills when I close my eyes,
hearing the last breath as each of them dies.
Wanting this to come to an endings end,
their reasons are getting hard to defend.
Watching the dripping as it hardens to dry,
I\'m contemplating the questions asking why.
I\'m keeping quiet, having nothing to say,
it\'s getting hard to live this way.