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.