In the Dust
Are you my friends, 
Those I see? 
You whose laughs 
Are life to me. 

Am I your friend? 
How am I seen? 
Should we continue, stop, 
Or start again clean? 

When I pick on you 
Does it hurt you so? 
Or do you laugh 
At a friendly joke? 

I see you fight back 
And I think to myself: 
Mean and vicious 
In the spirit of jest. 

So why, may I ask?, 
Is it the case 
That I'm left behind 
When I fight but a trace?