Clean trousers, grey shirt tucked in,
He walks along the lines to follow,
A dark void that's just been created,
Failed imagination to summon Apollo.
Chains that drag his feet along,
Much to the pain that resides and taints,
Glory that he basks amidst this misery,
Reflects nothing else but the historic ruins,
Dreams that never shatter, he recalls a tale,
A paradise they call it if that exists at all,
Morning woes that follows a nightmare,
Faded bliss he tries to track on the trail,
He walks with his head held high,
Like a soldier that conquers a post,
Nothing to mourn, he whispers,
Just the goodbye kiss he misses the most,
Yet he smiles as he marches on,
The path he never thought he'd cross,
The destiny that's just been redefined,
A vague memory of his youth still lingers.
Again, he thinks every thing has an end,
As the sun fades beyond the dark clouds,
Some embrace the pain as glory,
While some hide it as a pale shroud
