And this boy; I cannot right,
no matter how much try I might;
for he holds his fleeting desire,
of visions which would transpire;
but these I cannot bring myself to know,
as his thoughts are filled with too much woe;
but why does he sell his soul for naught,
when he knows that love he has sought?
For here I am to keep him near,
I am here to help through his despair;
so what is this madness therein he indulges,
that brings about these outrageous convulses?
For this idea of magnificence,
has turned his mind into a nest;
wherein there is no magnificence,
but only a waterfall filled with pests;
so please turn him away,
lest he finally goes astray;
as it was my greed and sin,
for wanting someone to this win;
and sadly it almost came true,
but my doom had finally sung its' due.