Fallen leaves on bended knees
Couldn’t withstand broken dreams
Of the boy who thought he could fly with bees
Without being stung.
Throughtout his past, the bruises grew fast
Burying lies was a skill of mastery
For the boy who couldn’t bother honesty
Unless he wanted a belt to the face.
I questioned clouds of neighboring towns
Could someone save a boy’s frown?
Told from the crowd who worshipped a harmless crown
That it is not worth being a saint.