Bruised outline of a dim silhouette
Cut out of a shadowed canvas
He sat alone in his suit with steaming skin
Time eroding away, without say
Breaking the once monumentally steady set
Pick up the pieces for me
Mop up the spill
Douse my flames with the condensation
Let me be still
Those were his words, this once-a-wonder person
taking notes from a beggar who saw him flailing
The wind blew right through him
It took everything but his sins
Left him with nothing but those and a gun
Now look at this mess on the ground
Perfect ingredient for fertility in time
The irony clear and true no less
May his soul be granted rest
But we all know, these stones were willingly cast
With no turn unstoned
With time his time was
Willingly
Knowingly
Stupidly
Humanly
Used to send him to the underground
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