Can a man reach the height of his dreams?
The true mechanic of righteous action
Outstretched grip of the ripping seams
Tumble down from its holy retraction

And realize everything is for naught
And everything you have ever sought
Lies in his graces dazzling bright palace
   Lies of my own form the cracked floors of solace

Filled with the bloated, pallid, and free of ambitions
Tangled hair and deepening wound of my intention
A ****** pond greets you with its callous retention
Stowed beneath, dark images taunt these last mentions

     As they all remember this will be their
home
As they lay down and look to god's cryptic
dome
And they all search

He is not one but alone with the
  masses
Stolen from him, he finds his future passes
From teary grip

I guess it will never rain in these fields
because it is pouring
God has closed this asylum, to contain shades from Elysium
For you see a sudden sight, multiplied by their unending night
Lead hauntings to stare through their own shapeless eyes,
In the fields of mourning