With ballistic force the nerves are severed

The crimson tide flows quickly down

And from this earth to which he’s tethered

His spirit flies, though body drown

And lifeless thus he lies on earth

An echo of his once true self

A false icon of what he’s worth

For now this shell can have no mirth

But far beyond there lies great wealth

And now he wears a golden crown

~j.d. schofield