Conclusions are often disappointing,
Long ago before the educated men climbed up from hell and solved all the problems of the world,
There was wonder in the cosmos and everything didn't have a goddamned equation to define it,

But that was before streetlights were there, for beggars and broken men to die beneath them
And as the street lights gradually brightened up the night, the stars in the sky glimmered down
Soon we realized those shining lights in the sky weren't gods or souls of better men
Instead they were just broken empty balls of light, gas and dirt just like us
And they all sigh at night crying about how disappointing conclusions are,

But let's forget that and talk for a second, about the people in the world,
At least them who have flavor in their souls and a lust for words

They sigh and swoon, of love that forever blooms, preferring fluency in verse
They want rhyme I shall give them rhyme I live to serve for that is my curse

Yet broken and battered verses of plain words plucked straight from the center of the earth
That is what I crave, what I pray I can learn

The heart now sighs black as a cigarette filter after one too many drags
The people prefer the glamour of sorrow rather than the truth of reality in the cracks

And so it is with me a fraud in all my writings
All these innumerable fantasies about my zeal for dying
In truth a young boy scared of picking the pen scared of fighting

Not what I have led myself to believe,
A knight of the poetic verse freshly anointed,
But then again conclusions often leave men disappointed