Dad came home in a bodybag. He never had the chance to say goodbye. He was a good man-fooled to believe in a fake ideal. His veins soon pulsed with dissent from what he had learned right before he died. The cold reality of the rich sending the poor off to fight a war for the corporate whores. "Will we ever see an end to this?" he said. Still stuck with addiction, he numbs his mind. He wants to return to the time when he was young and blind. "Will we ever see an end to this?" he said. He knew life would never be the same from here on out. He felt the storm coming in with those dark approaching clouds. "Will we ever see an end to this?" he said. He's homeless now. He throws his mind away and struggles with the thoughts of suicide and the end of days. He wants to see the end of this. This is the beginning of his concrete bed under a bridge. "This is rock bottom. I can only go up from here. I'm looking ahead and I think I'm ready to face what I've always feared." He screams out at the metropolis in front of him. This is where he learns to sink of swim. He turns to face a monster in front of him that is the epitome of limiting. He takes the needle from his bedside, gives it a look for the last time. It's the last time.