Once was a man just a young boy,
He threw and he drew in the lost playgrounds,
Here is where people met,
They collected stories and secrets that they kept,
It was a vast field of majesty,
All who ever walked on its paths never ceased to live,
But only few have ever died,

Ceasing to exist while the heart still beats,
Breathing softly and surely until their presence turns to mist.
He,
He was one of the few,
He tried to save the tiny compassion left inside a rotten dew,
But alas he was in turn corrupted by the nectar of its dark and creepy hue.
He forgot what it meant,
What it took,
And what it is to be real,
Concrete and strong as steel,
Burning with a passionate spirit of Courage,

With succession he twisted and he toiled,
Ramming the hills of the land and crashing into it's mountains,
There he presumed a title that was astounding for the sound that it makes,
Fearless,
Fearless are we,
Fearless are they,
Fearless with no light,
To embrace the dark fully,
Here his spirit lies,
And his spirit decays,
Never to see a more shaded day,
Brimming with a look that shines more dull each way,

Each way he went it was just mere,
Utter,
Non-sense,
Never was a day that was bland as that,
Until that fateful eve,
Where only downfall would rise with the Sun,
Alongside the humming of the Moon,
Where the cosmic embodiment of Death soon became,

Paranoia juices flowed into place,
For whispers of deceit foul the mortality of the brain,
Corroding the mind until it took him away,
That was the night,
Where one of his deaths took stage,
That was where,
He should have been brave,
To face all in his mind,
And to follow the whispers that were holier than you or than I,
Because that was the end,
*Of the truth on his plane.