The boy stood on the top of the world
Cold dark day
Gales of reality pelted the young lad
As he shivered under the frost of the everyday
He wants to scream
But he had long lost his voice to the demons below
The winds howl
Summoning the torrents from above
And though the gods wept for the young boy
None more will shed tears of feeling
Ignoring the crimson stains on the earth
The boy’s last mark on the world
Soon washed away by the angels’ requiem
As he is slowly carried away
To his final destination
Where away from his devils
He may finally rest