The Man Max



Stripped of all humanity, he waits;

His hate a bartered tool to gain the end.

Bordering on sanity, he comes;

Will he ever touch that place again?

Some think him a ruffian, some a devil.

Some call him a hero, some a rebel.

He's grown tired of breathing filthy air,

He's grown wiser - there's grayness in his hair.

No more than a hollow shell, he sleeps, but never dreams.

And yet he is so much more than he seems.