when the world is too much, when my proud truths are naught but lies, what then? who will accept this shadow of a man? when the heart does not reflect the ideals proclaimed boldly and loudly, when the facade crumbles under the burning persistence of the racing world, where is the freedom, and where is my honor? where the prestige consumes the love, and the bitterness exceeds the mercy, there lies the fallen man, the broken man.
but sing, my soul, of the one who is not the shadow. the one whose truths are real, and whose love is impractical. his heart is for all, and his gaze never falters. may he take this twisted life and place it on a firm foundation.
