The smoke that billowed outwards following wind current
was visible even from the horizon,
and served as a beacon for a curious mind.
So the troubadour wandered to find what did warrant
a terrible curse that could brighten
the sky with fires furious enough to blind.

He heard a proclamation from the city's king
as it burned down before his eyes
that it was not worth his time to save.
A gift of buckets the man did bring
in hopes that he could make the flames subside
as its owner abandoned it and walked away.

The supports of each tired building that collapsed
reached out its fiery tendrils to the next
until all that was left of this city was Ash.
The time to save the molten city had lapsed
and though the troubadour was vexed
he continued with buckets of water unabashed.

The foundation survived the hateful flames
and the inhabitants of the city flooded the streets
to salvage the jewels that had been hidden inside.
A lyricist knows nothing of building frames
or the noise of impact as the hammer beats
so as not not impeded progress he stood aside.

He watched as the builders replaced
the crowded wooden buildings that had fallen to fire
with heavy and beautiful marble walls.
After each travel into the world he quickly raced
back to this city to inquire
if the buildings within had been reinstalled.

He pleaded with the builders to not neglect
the necessity of the simple buildings that were
a house for those without houses for so long.
Again and again the builders did reject
until he begged enough that they would concur
as long as he continued to bribe them with song.

He wandered the world and wrote every word
that the concert of the world whispered to him
and he learned to play every riff.
To make sure he inspired the builders that heard
the truth of this city's love hymn
and he played it to them every day as a gift.

If he inspired  the builders he could not know
but they built a city worthy of the praise
that claimed her the most beautiful city of all.
When they finished they brought him in to show
the new buildings that they did raise
of gold and gems that would never fall.

Each night was spent singing in her ear
as he traveled through the darker places
that the builders forgot to place lights.
He did not have the wisdom to hear
her whispers or feel her missed embraces
as he reveled in her delights.

A lyricist knows nothing of structural support
so how could he know he was to blame
that the city was collapsing under the weight of its beauty.
Further the city suffered because of his tort
as plunderers with their war wagons came
to claim this city as their *****.

They burned what was left to the ground
as they left with what they desired
and forgot about the the wreckage that remained.
The troubadour sat without a sound
for an elegy his voice was too tired
and his tears could no longer be contained.

The city he loved was Ash as he had found it
and he did not know what could be done
to show the world the beauty it held.
Travelers and merchants that passed were astounded
as he stood by it in the rain or the sun
because none could see the beauty that he beheld.

His clothes became damp and torn
and his singing voice a shrill
as he continued his labor of love.
He began to believe his welcome was worn
and his sadness began to make him ill
as he watched from the mountain above.

A troubadour knows how to sing
of the beautiful things in the world
yet knows not how to sustain them.
But if he finds his words can bring
hope to a city or a smile to a girl
he will collapse from producing constant hymn.