The Ballad of I

When I was a boy, fresh out in world,

I nearly left for the deep down below.

I fought for my air, and was stuck so curled,

Then soon enough felt the oxygen flow.

I was born and soon deemed a fighter,

Body laid under the sign of the bull.

I could hold the spark to start a fire,

Everyone said I’ve a future of gold.

But who am I but a simple wordsmith,

Conjuring up some sort of charm.

The fight that they spoke was only a myth,

Instead now there’s a ringing alarm.

Cause I am no Herculean soldier,

I am only a boy of eighteen,

I have only searched for closure,

Or a glimpse of what could have been.

I am the one that you left out weeping,

I am the one that you kicked to the ground,

And I am the one that has kept on dreaming,

Thinking that one day he might be found.

But I must say that I don’t have the fight,

That you watched all those years ago,

Someone has gone and turned out my light,

What am I to do when I’m cast down below?