that girl with blue eyes
ice-cold rays of rising flames
how gentle they seemed

those darkened clouds cried
and im a fool
for thinking the tears were real

The point I try to make
Is that there is no point at all
When you are gone from this world
You are gone and that is all
You may be remembered
But that will not be for long
So I repeat
The point I try to make
Is that there is no point at all

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”