A whisper, in cold skies of old, dying stars
Is heard, and their lingering death
With not one regret turns and scatters in waste,
As realms of shattered humanity haste
To live and to burn out their breath.
Yet soon there's a scream, a small cry of despair
That binds all the skies to avail,
And one daring soul stands behind to convey
His wish to unravel all living dismay,
To bury his past and prevail.
And thus it begins, as no man can escape
The sweet domination of want,
While stars burn and shine, for so he allows,
The master of wishes that hastily vows
To bring forth desires to grant.
But no man can endure the cruel truth behind,
The wasteland of the human fate,
As all exploration of such fragile minds
Leads only to nothing, and all that it finds
Are fragments of wishes and hate.
And so he remains, whose new story of life
Has neither a middle nor end.
For stars will grow cold and will wantonly die
When wishes are old, while humanity’s lie
Of life will no longer commend.