Inside and behind this fast aging door,
That timeless hands have fashioned,
Standing so still and so dead
The Man Without waits

As worlds beyond his threshold meet
And flow as the rivers to the sea
His eyes shine cold and out to the world
That forsake him and those who lived to the pulse of the Rhythm

He wishes upon the fallen stars igniting the darkened sky
To be returned once more to the golden shores
To a place where once he named home

This Man Without is a common rare
Their earth-shattered skeletons followed suit
To the once pulsing Rhythm now silent

He too is now quiet, as the Phantoms would dare
Yet between his death and mortal life
He proposes the Riddle of Why

He is as us,
A Soul Without