A formless and faceless thing,
that holds not, the properties of man.
Does separate, of you, from this,

Hallow ,Elysium.

So vile this,
A Soucraint.
That bores at your expense
That does discard
The will and want.

With such, grievous act.

Yet renders such tumultuous wake
With sure of tide and joyous
pangs.

Without regard to ache.

For fathoms from hope
and sanity, bereft our hero​'s light.

That never again, be held abreast
and against to ever fight.