Home ยป Song of the Homeless in the Eaves

Whether republic, whether government;
This group of means you call a nation,
Robbed us a lot for none the effort,
Was truly a man who walked by day,
Was solely everything by night he walked.
Days would mourn a night for sorn he fed,
All the wars he bore thus more composed,
Saw not law nor door to haul him more,
For all he got was memory none to weep,
That numbs him so was he that early stood,
Continues along the barren state he calls,
How silent he stood, no more he could cry,
But ere desire can only for early rise escape,
Sought the road hind the walls that drew him,
No sun can never set on his life for now,
But conquers both land and sea ere battles for more,
Can war truly be a symptom of ill mind?
Can he seek himself the better long he last?
But what he fights for, can only walk so far,
The contrary the wind blows, yet he walks,
The sun that shines yet his eyes are rampant,
A sea that crushes against rock and heart he fears,
Is but chime that drops against anchors within,
The splashes of water that soak him, soil him,
Drops of water that form the shape his hearth,
A lonely bed under the sight of dark he sleeps,
No more to know and none better to weep,
A single company of pins that draw lest he forget,
A bucket full of water that seeps into him,
A singing prose that can never reach him here,
Let him weep, but can never attain hope he needs,
One tragedy that led to another, one issue another,
Then justifies himself by claiming exile in distress,
Then justifies why none can never understand him,
Thus reasons in ways to say he can’t learn another,
In the end his nights were too long to be dawn,
Within the next, he walked onward and never returned.

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