Keep the Faith
Used-to-be's.
He used to be a hero. He used to be a leader. He used to command an army, an army that had seemed invincible, that had been spread across the entire world. It had crumbled into the same dead ashes that made up the rest of the world.
He used to be a proud marcher. Now he would just have to carry on. He had to, because he was a hero. He didn’t feel like one, but that’s what he was told. Heroes were misunderstood, right? They tried to do what was right, even if the world turned against them.
And the world had turned. The army had deserted. They didn’t care about the man behind the mask anymore. They still watched him though; watched his relationships, his hopeless hair, his new costumes, his mask. But they didn’t care. They didn’t want him any more.
At the end of the day, he couldn’t take off his mask. Because it had become part of him, the fakeness, the smile, the genial face he hid behind.
Did it mean his cause wasn’t worth it? Wasn’t it good enough to believe in? He thought it still meant something. It had never stopped feeling right, or good. It never stopped meaning something to him. But what about everyone else? Just stop making music. Just give it up. He couldn’t give up the music in his blood, the flickering fire in his heart. A hero at heart.
But even heroes fail, and fall, and lose their faith. They lie in the dirt, still trying to get up, still trying to save everyone else. Everyone but themselves. They aren’t allowed to save themselves.
But their soldiers are.
He used to be a proud marcher. Now he would just have to carry on. He had to, because he was a hero. He didn’t feel like one, but that’s what he was told. Heroes were misunderstood, right? They tried to do what was right, even if the world turned against them.
And the world had turned. The army had deserted. They didn’t care about the man behind the mask anymore. They still watched him though; watched his relationships, his hopeless hair, his new costumes, his mask. But they didn’t care. They didn’t want him any more.
At the end of the day, he couldn’t take off his mask. Because it had become part of him, the fakeness, the smile, the genial face he hid behind.
Did it mean his cause wasn’t worth it? Wasn’t it good enough to believe in? He thought it still meant something. It had never stopped feeling right, or good. It never stopped meaning something to him. But what about everyone else? Just stop making music. Just give it up. He couldn’t give up the music in his blood, the flickering fire in his heart. A hero at heart.
But even heroes fail, and fall, and lose their faith. They lie in the dirt, still trying to get up, still trying to save everyone else. Everyone but themselves. They aren’t allowed to save themselves.
But their soldiers are.