The little boy lived in a world of dreams and oblivion,

deaf to the place outdoors.

His home was filled with the scent of roses, and he played on the spotless shores.

But the heartless hit-man known as Tragedy,

took all that away.

No one to save his world this time,

The cold sad clock would still chime.

The anger kept pouring into him, an avalanche of hate.

When oh when would the reckoning come?

The boy could hardly wait.

And so he comes all dressed in black.

His eyes, black and shiny coals.

The story starts again,

His demons grapple for his soul.

He hits the rough pavement,

But the pain tastes like honey on his tongue.

Goodbye, seamless shores.

The little Knight’s no longer young.