Tears fall upon the ground in vain,
memories of pain so lost.
He can not keep his rage at bane,
no actions come without a cost.
HE fears an end that's not his own,
but picks a life of thorns.
Hoping someday soon he'll die,
and rise again newborn.
If only reality were dreams,
and ended with one wink.
He'd gladly see his sarrows fade,
and change his life from meek.
There'd be no splender not his own,
no mountain peek too high.
He'd never want to face the blade,
he'd never want to die.
But dreams are that, and nothing more,
and his pain is truly just.
The ache of guilt wont stay with death,
like him it turns to dust.
Farewell to you poor tortured soul,
your agony soon ceases.
As death I help you leave this world,
and leave behind the pieces.