Where is the honor of taking the blame?
Where is the honor of being shamed?
Where is the honor of letting others get away?
The pride of life bolsters my chest.
But in the morning it appears to be regress.
The others joyfully loaded the gun.
They set me in the front; they told me to run.
So I ran and ran into the danger.
Heart beating fast; for me there is no savior.
At the point when I saw the whites of their eyes;
I knew my friends had sent me to die.
So die I must; bravely I went.
I ran straight towards them; all their cartridges spent
I fell to the ground; my life over.
My body died; the angels took over.
As I floated away I saw what was left of me.
Just a stupid boy who kept bad company
So the question at the start is answered in the end.
Those who spoke of honor were not real friends.