Here is a slave
Of the whims of a slave
For every a vice
He ever does crave

For never he'll see
Yet jests, just  to see
And pains in the purpose
To be, or just be

For he  does  fail,                                           and fall does he fall,  
Dispite his dismay
built he a wall                            

Yet, Small was his fight ,.                 little.                                                          ­      then none.    

His battle,                                                          ­his war,                                                             will never be won

Night into night,.                                              the day is most nought,                                     for he who has battles                                  that never are fought.

So Weary a body                                         with this as a toll.  

So Foreboding  is this                                      for any a soul.        

But, for u, who are you

Be it sound

Be it  true

You it chance

You it heart

Be it start
once a new.