Tattered & torn into piety,
Reaching for a hand that isn�t there.
Ripped, blackened clothing
Is all he has to wear.

He clings to his own self,
Trying to capture escaping heat.
Always afraid of moving forward,
Afraid of what he�ll meet.

Like a mime in a box,
Breaking limbs to be freed.
Ripping leather off his shoes
Just to be able to feed.

The future�s a prison cell,
No real options will arise.
The only thing he has to look forward to,
Are broken promises and good-byes.

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