Forever he walks,
Forever he talks,
Forever he is,
Forever he sins.
Time cannot wrinkle the skin on his bones.
Never will be heard his deathly moan.
Is he happy? Living perpetually?
Or is it death? living indefinitely?
Can he understand us? Those time marrs?
Swathed in the warm coddle of death arms?
We abandon him, to walk alone, talk alone
Be alone. Never to pick up the phone
For a friend. He is always now.
Never in other times is he found.
His companion is the air,
his friend, he is dead.
his mother? Not well fared.
No brother to sooth the dread.
The rushing wind rapes the world round him
Pusing away from him, far away it sends.
He’s perched forever atop the crest,
knowing now is always best,
for tommorow never comes,
and thus life always runs.