My heart is on a journey.
My purpose is on its leave.
My passion, once sweet as honey,
Is now like the dead i bereave.
Each new day mocks an old king
Whose zeal to love is unreal.
Each bright noon darkens as they sing:
”He’s faint to live! He’s lost the zeal!”
My soul rides on thin circuits.
My vision, a cast of gloom.
Let my dreams dodder as it suits.
Let my scars grow in docile room.
Let none save me from this fall,
Lest you reap what you don’t sow.
I shall stand in my fall, up tall
And glory in my failure row.
I hear the choirs and their song.
I hear bells and a message.
I see the hands; they want me home.
I read the signs; the throne is gone.
False hope is born.
Lost time has come.
The king is gone.
Now sets the sun.
Pens bled with each sound of my voice.
Armies of words rose at my word.
My presence swallowed every noise.
But that was when i ruled the world.
I’m the chaff before the wind,
The helpless pack before the pride.
The dishwasher for the new king,
The happy son from a dead dream.