The man that stands alone awakes
Just to watch as his world breaks
Thoughts pelts him like freezing rain
The man shunned by the sane
The man that lives an earthquake

He sulks about avoiding all windows
What, you ask, brought him to be so low?
Death stole his logic and heart
Reduced him to useless parts
A language no one knows…

Since death took his wife-
He started carrying a knife
He’s only friends-
Are a dog and the wind
Together the three toy with life

They do not fight fate
Or the misery of the wait
Survival is the meal
Thoughts are surreal
Enemies he creates

Ah, but the man wanted to feel again
And he wanted to find a game to win
But all he had was the wind, and a dog with a wagging tail
He saw the dog’s happiness, he thought he saw lies, his mind began to wail
He wanted the dog’s joy; he wanted revenge, ah but for what?
That did not matter. Win. Win. He took his knife and stabbed the poor mutt
And the dog’s, his friend no matter what, heart began to fail.

Sweet Adrenaline. Beautiful victory. Ugly death.
The man cackled and shook the dog, but there was not a breath.
The dog would not awake.
Why, death is more than a mistake
What has insanity done to you now, John Creath?

One step back, fall to your knees, colors dim…
Look what you have done, simply on a whim
But he will go on, there must be a reason
For fate to allow such treason…
But now, not even the wind speaks to him