I take my leave of this battle ring,
For the memory too clear
Of when I was last here
My chagrined view is still burning.
If in this world there is no grey,
That cannot be razored with instant clarity
And if trial and query is such antiquated puerility
Then there is nothing left I can say.
In good faith to you I took up this battle ring
To carry you, however weighty the fare,
But then my voice was lost to the still, empty air.
I stand alone when I'm the only one trying.