• No need for moan, he weeps alone.
    Without a cause, he grows detached.
    A mind so bright, yet heart so cold,
    With eyes all dark, so beautiful.
    He feels no shame, he lusts for pain!
    Yet weeps in envy of the flies.

    If first he tries, then soon he flies?
    Delusions guide him, he’s alone.
    No man can claim to feel his pain
    From bonds and bails and friends detached.
    A heart that beats so beautiful,
    Can only tremble in the cold.

    Can man stay bold if he is cold?
    For truth and sin, he watches flies:
    “Decayed, diseased and beautiful,
    The conscious man must waste alone.”
    Both near and far, yet still detached,
    He falls in rain and kills for pain.

    He can’t remain without his pain;
    His body trembles in the cold.
    Estranged by life, he lives detached,
    He sobs and begs just like the flies.
    The pleasure wasted here alone,
    One could describe as beautiful.

    His thoughts are cruel yet beautiful.
    No hope, he laughs to ease the pain
    Within a man stranded alone
    Who fights and shivers in the cold.
    A race for truth as time still flies.
    Aghast at how he feels detached.

    Still yet, no match for he’s detached.
    A comic laughing, beautiful.
    In time he turns into the flies
    A metamorphosis to pain.
    ‘Tis HE, who travels through the cold,
    The one who travels all alone.

    In life detached, in love with pain,
    The beautiful Sun kills the cold.
    The Sun, it flies and dies alone.