Nanie
Lurker
- Joined
- Oct 6, 2009
- Messages
- 200
- Reputation score
- 25
(The manner in which this one is written is inspired by The Protomen Act II: Light up the Night)
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===The Doctor who Built Himself for You===
_____________________________________
The doctor had he tools and had the skill.
The doctor held at bay his idle will.
With shaky hands he set himself to the chore.
Build a tool to cleave apart the hate,
something so clean and smooth to create.
To slay then slide the corruption from the floor.
Something to slay the evils that so plainly danced in sight.
To illuminate the days that had become night.
With a heart as pure as a child,
there's no way he could forsake those who just went wild.
With a mind as tactical and built as a machine,
there is not one man who could pull on him an illusory theme.
With hands that do not hesitate,
he could reach out to even those who are misled.
Legs that do not wait,
not even time to think about how he could have fled.
Into the danger time and time again he ran.
An intricate and finely crafted machine.
Something built of man,
but so much so just a thing.
The power of the hope in his heart.
All the reactor the doctor would need.
From the moment he hit start,
the thing he had become would not bleed.
Through the pain he would fight.
Through the betrayal each night.
Through the rays of the sun he no longer can see.
A machine that forgot who it was and just recalls what it needs to be.
The doctor had the tools and he had the skill.
The doctor's first kill was his idle will.
If you have a machine you have to have the fuel.
No matter how you cut it you can't run without power now.
The doctor ran so far and became so lost.
Became so familiar at seeing a world so cruel.
Clenching dearly the dying light he struggled for which he struggled to fight.
It doesn't matter how he got her and he cares not how.
He knows if he had the chance he'd repay the cost.
But the doctor's running low on fuel and no matter how hard he tries,
everything he tries to fill it with just vanishes now.
No matter how open his heart or open his eyes -
- he just can't forget them now.
The machine couldn't save some and it saved so many.
It feels so old and like it wants to retire.
A line somewhere inside he drew back then.
To protect something precious that fueled his fire.
Even now or then it doesn't matter at all!
Even in this crimson rain he'll stand square and tall.
Even in this vacant home he remembers you.
Even though he has nothing to fight for, he'll fight so true.
Because even though he can't save himself from his heap on the floor,
you taught him rightly there are those worth living for over dying for.
So even if he cannot be whole,
the doctor will fight.
Even if he cannot hold you in his arms this night,
he'll hold you with every bit of his soul.
In the name of those I've lost,
you won't be able to stand.
Even if it's a dire cost,
for those rare who are worth it I will lend my hand.
The doctor will surely die alone.
Surrounded by memory,
entwined in nightmare.
He'll finally have ended his quest to atone.
And not once will he have forgotten he was free.
And not once will he have forgotten that you were there.
_____________________________________
===The Doctor who Built Himself for You===
_____________________________________
The doctor had he tools and had the skill.
The doctor held at bay his idle will.
With shaky hands he set himself to the chore.
Build a tool to cleave apart the hate,
something so clean and smooth to create.
To slay then slide the corruption from the floor.
Something to slay the evils that so plainly danced in sight.
To illuminate the days that had become night.
With a heart as pure as a child,
there's no way he could forsake those who just went wild.
With a mind as tactical and built as a machine,
there is not one man who could pull on him an illusory theme.
With hands that do not hesitate,
he could reach out to even those who are misled.
Legs that do not wait,
not even time to think about how he could have fled.
Into the danger time and time again he ran.
An intricate and finely crafted machine.
Something built of man,
but so much so just a thing.
The power of the hope in his heart.
All the reactor the doctor would need.
From the moment he hit start,
the thing he had become would not bleed.
Through the pain he would fight.
Through the betrayal each night.
Through the rays of the sun he no longer can see.
A machine that forgot who it was and just recalls what it needs to be.
The doctor had the tools and he had the skill.
The doctor's first kill was his idle will.
If you have a machine you have to have the fuel.
No matter how you cut it you can't run without power now.
The doctor ran so far and became so lost.
Became so familiar at seeing a world so cruel.
Clenching dearly the dying light he struggled for which he struggled to fight.
It doesn't matter how he got her and he cares not how.
He knows if he had the chance he'd repay the cost.
But the doctor's running low on fuel and no matter how hard he tries,
everything he tries to fill it with just vanishes now.
No matter how open his heart or open his eyes -
- he just can't forget them now.
The machine couldn't save some and it saved so many.
It feels so old and like it wants to retire.
A line somewhere inside he drew back then.
To protect something precious that fueled his fire.
Even now or then it doesn't matter at all!
Even in this crimson rain he'll stand square and tall.
Even in this vacant home he remembers you.
Even though he has nothing to fight for, he'll fight so true.
Because even though he can't save himself from his heap on the floor,
you taught him rightly there are those worth living for over dying for.
So even if he cannot be whole,
the doctor will fight.
Even if he cannot hold you in his arms this night,
he'll hold you with every bit of his soul.
In the name of those I've lost,
you won't be able to stand.
Even if it's a dire cost,
for those rare who are worth it I will lend my hand.
The doctor will surely die alone.
Surrounded by memory,
entwined in nightmare.
He'll finally have ended his quest to atone.
And not once will he have forgotten he was free.
And not once will he have forgotten that you were there.