You lie cold on the ground, guts visible for everyone who wants to see, but with their high pitched shrieking and their rushing past, everyone shows us how much of a sight you are to them
Are you even still there to understand what has happened to you or am I talking to myself?
Deep confusion strikes me of how you within that single moment managed to go from soaring through the skies to lying flat on the asphalt, even if it never was my task to keep an eye on you
Gazing at all the passing cars I find that the blood of whom I once looked up to the most, now is smudged all over the possible murderers' feet
The only way for you to answer my questions requires me to run down those dark, lonely stairs
But the question is, are you really worth my anguish? Maybe all the car drivers are doing the right thing by just driving past you.
I guess birds get run over every day...