In the middle of a storm, a young man stands torn.
In the same spot, freshness comes to the clothes worn.
As it pours on the earth, the boy stands freezing and warm.
Clean is a new feeling, to a boys skin so worn.
young as as he is, this feeling is only bested by being born
shivers course over his skin, until he sees the dirt wash away again.
He loves the world, and no hate lies within him.
Alone under magical skies, hes long forgiven his mothers sin .
She left her only son,  thought his young life would end.
But mystic energy picked the boy from the floor.
Brought thoughts to his head and gave him  land to own.
in return for the worlds cold lands, a voice was given to lead him until he became a man.
a brilliant boy still stands feeling beauty drip into his hands.
His legs felt that it was beauty to great to stand.
His knees collapsed as the weight if his past washed from his back.
Only grown by what things he lacked, a solitary boy thought himself the stories  of the world.
sadly to say his human brain still gave him fear and pain.
Even in a perfect world the greatest feeling was the dirt washing away.
Long since forgotten the boy lives on.
his knowledge is different but far from wrong.
If you listen close during a storm, you hear him singing his beautiful song