Pain staking hours, in a life of despair
The man behind the mask, has no one to care
No one to love, how hard they try
Behind the mask, they wonder and pry
But still he goes on, in endearing life
Not caring about anything, not caring about strife
The man behind the mask, is withered and cold
And he stays this way, untill he's grey and old
This mask of his, scars him untill death
Like the great battle, of horus and seth
But there is no winner, loser of sort
Nothing to gain, and no one he taught
He has nothing to remember, but a lifetime of pain
Burning his skin, like a potent acid rain
Resting in his death, peace procides him now
The father casts his eyes, and wonders how
How no one can care, that his soul has passed
Away into plains, of etheral lonliness
An enduring life, and he failed the test
No one he loved, so no one loved him
His funeral is breif, lonley and grim
But he is happy, dwelling alone
The voice through his head, it does intone
Of how things were, and could of been
This lonley life, he couldn't have foreseen
But to bring it all back, and live it again
So many people, the same and slain
By lonliness and heartache, never to live
The man behind the mask, had nothing to give.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Lupar, in the year 248 AF.