The breathe of a man—

His very own pride.

His only hope for tomorrow

His only shaker in disdain

When a man is dead

What hath he gained?

Just a fallen lion kicked out of its pride

All hope lost—

And nothing to fall back to

Hassling around for end means,

Shuffling from one bit to the other.

We are men—

And ego is our name,

Always ready to die on our feet.