We idolized fictitious messiahs and fraudulent gods from pulp pages and we called them super.

We call them heroes, but are they real? No.

Just the meanderings of over-active imaginations that never dug deep enough to discover the private and personal crimefighters of everyday life, so turn the page, close the book and put it down.

All the superheroes are dead. They don’t have beating hearts, they ever existed to begin with, but heroes, everyday heroes are alive and all around us, but not as Peter Parkers or Clark Kents. They don’t wear red capes, they sport blue collars and go by names like “Mother”.

My mother wasn’t Wonder Woman, but that’s not to say wasn’t a wonderous woman. She was no Daredevil, no ‘Man without Fear’. She was no X-Man, but X marked the spot of my heart; she loved me.

She didn’t need x-ray vision to see my world was in trouble. The X-Factor was that she prepared me for my Alpha Flight, lassoed me with truth and raised me into a Wolverine, and without the ability to heal myself I was just Logan. But she gave me claws and superstrength to believe in the abilities I possessed, no matter how regular or Dr. Strange they may be.

See, superheroes can’t tuck you in at night, can’t wipe cold sweat from the creased brows of children who fear their dreams.

With great power comes great responsibility, and mothers don’t just give us our name or Sub-Marine us in their thoughts when they know the Mystique of the Juggernauts and the Marvels of this adamantium Gambit. They know that villains exist, and in black suits they spread their venom to create Carnage, Doomsday to a Superman who isn’t coming back, the Bane of our existence and this our Nightfall. These Mister Sinisters and Doctors of Doom use Cloak and Dagger techniques to create their Vision of Black Widows, Red Skulls and Green Goblins with Scorpion tails that Scream from between the panels, just Sentinels and New Warriors for their Deadpool.

Our parents never changed clothes in phone booths. We put our lights in the dark night sky for them and they arrived like Thunder every time and saved us before the Flash can, fast, before our summer blockbuster could crossover into just another Clone Saga.

See, we need our Aunt Mays, Mary Janes, Betty Brants, Lois Lanes, Clark Kents, Uncle Bens, J. Jonah Jamesons, Pepper Potts, Betsy Ross, I could keep going, there’s lots, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, Superman’s pal Jimmy Olsen, Gwen Stacy, Liz Osborn, this is getting kind boring and they may not be Fantastic, but when you feel like an Invisible Thing they will light up like a Human Torch, stretch their arms around you and it’s clobbering time for anyone in their way, so don’t expect me to wait on the saviour with radioactive DNA.

I will not rest for what Rogue Hope is left on a fictional Phoenix rising from the Grey or in a Storm of Jubilance from the Abyss.

Figments of overblown exaggerated imaginations can’t carry the Incredible Bulk of the Iron Fist of indifference in this world, but my mother could.

We don’t need make believe superpowers to help us heal. We just need to believe that ordinary people can do extraordinary things.

Lyrics submitted by uncleben85

Superheroes song meanings
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