The spectre. This one is tired, his footsteps echos south through unfulfillment and Cresent moons his cries reveal a crippling loneliness A dagger that cannot be removed he is invisible to the beings the doings he is invisible to the goings on and on he roams in limbo yearning to be seen in agony, he begs for acknowledgement For life to announce itself a pantomime of sense and flavor he aches to feel the pushing and pulling of the dancing tides his very consciousness grows tired of asking for identity. stuck in a tangable dream the man looks inwards to lock eyes with a desolate land of self doubt and aimless illusion I am the spectre that roams this earth