He stands there, alone.

Without friend or enemy

Only solitude, the night

And the wind, flowing past.



The wind

That he can't escape

Following him.

The winds of doom.



The night.

His closest friend

Always there, it has never betrayed him

To those who hunt him.



And sweet solitude.

His shield from the world.

Protecting him, from all mortal woes

And others, from him.



For all see him.

They watch him, always.

With little understanding

Of him, and his Fate.



To kill without hesitation

Without mercy or regret.

'Tis a bitter way to live

Without love to deepen it.



But let him be,

And all his kind.

For they are content

And they'll kill you, if of mind.



-San Carpenter