A few hours of sleep,
Or maybe less.
His flat's askew.
His hair's a mess.
.
With cane in hand,
He hobbles 'round.
He's always sad,
Heartbreak abound.
.
He's now alone,
When once was not.
His friend is gone,
His enemy shot.
.
He must return
To his loving fans.
They've been so bored
Without his demands.
.
"He's coming back!"
He swears and swears.
"He's a man of truth,
Of lies and care."
.
He got fiction on
That scarf he wore,
The one that's blue,
But now no more.
.
It's not red
And black, dark hues.
Because what if
What he said was true?
.
And so our friend
Just sits and sighs.
Another day gone;
He still can't say goodbye.
.
He runs a hand
Through his full-grey hair
He rests his cane
Against the stair.
.
He rests a bit,
A few more hours.
Then he's up again,
Cursing dreams of that damned tower.
.
And Molly calls;
She's dreamt the same.
A man jumping off,
And there ends the game.
.
It goes on much more
Than that sometimes.
He's had the dream
A thousand times.
.
A cloaked man stands
Atop Saint Bart's.
He says goodbye;
His descension starts.
.
John wakes up cold
And lost and scared.
Praying that
His friend's been spared.
.
His sister has
Forgiven him.
"For what?" he asks.
"It's she who's sinned."
.
She's taken up
The flask in hand.
Again, he says,
"She's fickle as sand."
.
Can't talk to her,
Nor him nor she,
And Hudson's just
Alone as he.
.
And where is he
That hides away?
He's among us now,
A ghost astray.
.
He's that man
On the sidewalk there,
That vagrant soul
With the blank stare.
.
His disguise is good,
Or so John thinks.
But what if his
Is a boat that sinks?
.
A car that wrecks
A pilot who calls
"God save us, please!"
A man who falls.
.
John just can't
help but think:
'Tis he that's died,
Who's missing a link.
.
Stones weigh down
His heavy feet.
His limbs are numb;
He struggles up the street.
.
The weather's been
Just properly sour
Since his friend was pulled
To the grey, cold ground.
.
And so John sits
And stares and mopes.
That smiling face
Is one that hopes.
.
Bullet holes for eyes,
And yellow paint.
Thereupon the wall,
It lies in wait.
.
Much like John,
It is alone.
Isolated in
Its jaded moan.
.
No love has risen
From the ashes burnt.
So charred, his life,
So filled with hurt.
