a silent figure sits alone
the ruins of his shattered throne
his hands gracing all he can own
and no one there to watch him.
he strikes a chord and heaves a sigh
and starts to play that famous lie
conceived by those now gods on high
who never cared to watch him.
“No more of this,” he starts to say
but even still his fingers play
a room of spirits start to sway
they blindly cannot watch him.
the song moves on from verse to verse
he protests more, his speech grows terse
he looks around to find his hearse
who ever could have watched him?
shattered, he leaves his soul behind
a man now to his fate resigned
he crosses the border of his mind
with no one there to watch him.