Song of the Lone Wolf

If, in my sickness,
You found me beautiful,
Would you tell me?

I'm suffering.
A whole lot of hell has happened,
And I'm cold,
And I'm alone.


Winter wind whips my hair back,
As I take these long, night-time walks 
To where they hung my father on a tree;
To where blood and bone resurrected me.


I leave.
There's nothing of beauty here for me.


Fools dance upon my grave.
The sun roars,
The rain pours,


And I know,
I know -


You'll break the broken windows
Of my soul.