He is a man of pent up wisdom,
Yet he does not show it.
He is a man of life rejected,
From a time of hopes and dreams?
He is a man of intellect,
some day they may disect him?
He is a man of further knowledge,
loved by just a few,
He is man of constant sorrow,
his heart the color blue.
He is a man of hope and wonder,
he is a man the same,
living in this man made prison,
walking through this world of pain.
His tear drops stained the sands he walked,
before this life it drained him,
now he sit shackled and chained,
death it finally claimed him.