Where he goes death follows
Why that is no one knows
What he touches turns to dust
Yet he knows not what he does
The concept of joy is a stranger to him
If he has ever felt it at all it was but a gleam
He too shall never obtain love
As though some divine punishment from above
He does know what love is
But he will forever be denied that eternal bliss
It hangs onto him like a mirage of what could be
Never to hold but only to see
In this torment he learnt hate
The days go by and each day he would curse his fate
Blinded by rage he would scream and shout
For what else could he do but pout?