The leaden cloak of his sorrowful pain
Is measured in tears like driving rain
Beating on the heart of experience
Searching for the self’s deliverance
From the consequence of his ignorance
Anchoring his soul to actions past
The present crucified upon his heart
Conscience writ upon a mirror image
A reservoir of guilt haunting his step
Casting shadows on his shallow soul
Traduced by chance and circumstance
Invading his dreams with silent terror
Water drowning heartache in his song
Wandering upon waves of contrition
Crashing on the shoreline of neglect
Brimming with remorse ridden regret
The wine of benediction in his thought
Seeking his redemption from the crime
His immortal grace is the Ancient Rime.