Countless persons bonded aloof,
Castle on my eyes, with no legit proof,
Looking the attention seeked for whom,
With a broken soul he was doomed.
A boy, a male he, man was not yet,
Pleasure to fake grin, outside rotten death,
Peered his marks of tears on cheeks,
If they were blade—should peel and creak.
Others what seen a free of soul,
He was a middled with loads as goals,
A dead of dark spent on silent yells,
He had those agony under his eyes dwelled.
A growling vocals his voice proved,
Lest what a person should easily ruled,
He—what an ethereal creature I saw,
He—a respectable prisoner of life I adored.