The balad of inevitable grief squirming throughout the being
An insatiable grunt of sheer agony piercing the soul ever so slightly
Too heavy to to grasp
Too light to graze
He's finally given up on life
Each hand reaching towards the sky to hold tenderly what might have been
Though, noone could've never prepared for the obastacles that are to befall ahead
Well, what's left now since it's all given and laid to waste?
A question to answer a question or a tangent of hateful remarks?
All too tangible and worthless now
Well outside the boundary of absolute obstinance
Time won't tell
