A suit of gray, but steps are strong,
a fire inside has burned so long.
The cloud above may shadow skies,
yet flames within refuse to die.
Through rain and smoke, the spirit goes,
its light the only truth it knows.
For storms may fall, and nights be long
He walks the street in silence,
but his mind is a battlefield.
A storm above, a fire within,
yet the world only sees a suit.
How heavy it is,
to carry weather no one else feels.
He strolls the edge of a quiet street,
A storm for a crown, fire at his feet.
No face, no name, just smoke and flame,
A whisper of chaos no rain can tame.
The world keeps moving, blind to the spark,
While thunder and ember devour the dark.
He carries his ruin in silence and gray,
A walking apocalypse, fading away.
