a few months of silence
riddled with bouts of raised voices
endured by a poor spirit
poor in spirit because of it's choices

the bustle of everyday
he sits under his blankets to wish it away
they say; "he's finally lost it, locked himself away for good"

and he has, sighed away his last bit of armor, but oh, once the boy was a charmer so now people are saying; "I really thought he would have went farther"

so they'll juxtapose his past with present outside his window, behind which he does the same, curses sent to the shadows carried with his name

so, the sun starts to lose face-time, and the moon is like the Bat signal for batman, but for the lonely it's just a flicker of light