Put out the stars for they giveth no light,
Shroud the moon with the mist of sin.
Hark, the day is nigh,
and happily doth people play.
That the coming apocalypse, does naught but brighten the day.
With nobody, doth this man stride forward,
lonesome in character and mysterious to fault,
attention alas, leads to despair.
For many moons and countless suns,
this man has to endure,
the ravings and the stabbing of society in full flow.
Day by day, routine overwhelms,
night by night, tiredness brings out carelessness,
that this ugly monster reared its ghoulish face
destroys the purpose of this very man.
Reduced to none,
battered to rubble,
with what more, does this man stride forward?
To rescue would by hopeless,
to save would turn into hurt,
to have no purpose, is the very undoing of man,
yet, a head taller doth he make his way forward.
Through the spiteful crowd of liars, prostitutes and cheaters,
into the den of robbers,
and past the valley of shadow and death.
Mercy is asleep,
and justice turns a blind eye.
His spirit is broken, thus, a road of no return.
-Anon
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