A seasoned man advised me once,
Our strong feelings,
Any which way,
Wear down the enamel of the soul.
Herald of sore dreams,
Beautiful with skies so sullen,
I can't bring myself to pity him.
I can't face him tonight.
There is a flavour,
To that wonderful, wretched world;
Though it slips from my mind.
I admire him, but I cannot return.
Night and night he returns.
Sitting there alone.
I wonder what worlds you've been to,
Mr. Stoic Man.