The Blood On My Hands

The blood on my hands
Where did it come from?
From torment, and torture,
And even then some?
Did it come from the hate
That lays in my mind?
Or perhaps from the thoughts
Of sorrow for mankind?
Maybe from love
I have lost or forgotten,
Or possibly from the sight
Of the ill and downtrodden?
Why this blood's on my hands
I may never know,
But it will always haunt me
Wherever I go...