On me
There’s a button
They’ve ticket the goods,
They’ve labeled the luggage.
They sent me here,
To a sterile, white
Waiting room.
Not only i know
I contain a ticking bomb.

They say
The word.
They know
The word is the code.
- He oughta handle it.
Oh, I explode into pieces.
Do i care?
My dismal lifework.

Who am i ?
What have i done?
I’ve lost my self again.
I’ve punished the good,
The innocent, my beloved,
My liberator, my saviour.

I know the situation.
I realize my deeds.
Blowing off the bomb
Was lengthening
Way out of hell.
Now who am i
Deserving mercy now.
Done is done.
Perhaps i need
another bomb.