The Man

The gleam of red stained metal, that final slash

As he ends another for what he stands

As a man does something rash

Followed by the washing of hands

And yet the man is still free

For his anger that has awed

Does nothing but fill

That crack in his facade

That could make the man kill

That one deed should end the man

And his snarls and grunts

His rage that burns brighter than stars at home

As he disciplines his runts

And in his steel-tipped boots he will roam

And yet the man is still free

His red hair dyed with blood

Of all that he has spilled

His eyes which hold the dull sparkle of mud

As they look on yet another he has killed

That one deed that should end the man

Anger is what drives this man

The engine to his tall thin form

For that deep dark tan

Holds a rage-filled storm

And yet the man is still free