Words of a Dead Scholar

You take the road I never had taken before, a lock set with no keys only for two endless doors, Grasses a withering in the wind and the rain, a breath left short of a loves unsober insane, for my hands in my fortune and I ran from mt fame, if you are my hero then make me see, what is left of your heartless glory that stands before me, as painful as this love with a sting like a bee, for dying wishes of this lady that dwell in the sea, what's luster of a tale as tall and so shy the price for the journey that left me to die, a secret so cold, to when we ask why, from the touch of the man that fell from the sky.