Swollen cloud of people
they distort like the mist.
amongst the masses is a man
old and derelict..
ripped away from his pride
drowned by open wounds
he waits in longing pain
for death to come to him soon..

I stand afar and stare.
I wonder what’s his story,
the life that he has led
as he sits and begs before me..
the people walk right by
with their own woes to worry on.
he stares with unphased eyes
at the past which lingers on..

He combs his hair with his hand
and scribbles something down
he closes his eyes and hums
and waves his arm around..
in the heart of this old man
burns an artist underneath
that no one had ever noticed
because his outline's just skin deep..

The urge to go over and ask...
"what tale do you have to say?"
is suppressed by the fear of him
which impels my feet to stay..
I sleep tonight in thought
of the marvel that I saw..
inspired by a mysterious man
I get up and write in awe..

In a swollen cloud of people
distorting like the mist.
amongst the masses is a man
old and derelict..
I stand in my familiar place
and watch his calm cold face
his eyes show something else
fear, guilt, shame and hate

We are a kindred pair
so inspired by a life of hurt
but my heart cannot come close
to the horrors he's seen on earth
again he starts to write
in a trance, fixed and surreal
I stare and admire his passion
as he lets out what’s been concealed

He hums a beautiful song
but its muffled by the mist..
the people rush on by
his song is lost amidst..
my eyes fill with anger
as he fades away in sorrow..
his art will go unheardand
I wont see him till tomorrow

I write tonight in fury
so upset with the world im in
upset with my own soul too
who didn’t go and talk to him
next time I will have my chance
to hear that enchanting song
I sleep feeling so empty
as my soul is left forlorn....

In a swollen cloud of people
distorting like the mist..
amongst the masses is a man
old and derelict..
bowed against the wall
his head hung in deep rest
the wrong time to approach him
but I cannot stop this eagerness

I wade through the mist
their story worthless and faded
they will die in their ignorance
fall to the bliss that they've created
I reach the unreachable
and shake his shoulder softly..
but his soul had left last night
and he slides to the floor... empty

I choke on silent words
no tear can justify the grief
so I reach down to his clenched fist
and quote a note it keeps..

"Sparrows pass, nameless, narrow.
to some dominion they will follow.
this heart shall bleed till its omega
and be forgotten to the hollow."