In the middle of known and unknown
stands a place more unknown than known
A haven of it's own devise
To it's walls reached not
The torments of the broken
It's water tight ramparts never shook
with the melancholy of the fallen
The indifferent little retreat wept not
with the cries of the forgotten
But there stood the little town of apathy
Beautiful in it's cold unknowing.
Content in its peaceful lethargy.
In a time not so long ago,
Within this very walls resided a lad,
Aged in his soul, but not so much in years
Though he was of nimble shape
He possessed a heart of old
With eyes that glow of judgement, wise.
And wit so sharp that with a single stroke
Could fell the iron walls
of the land of the faiths, three.
Lonely Joe, of the Shore, call him they did.
stands a place more unknown than known
A haven of it's own devise
To it's walls reached not
The torments of the broken
It's water tight ramparts never shook
with the melancholy of the fallen
The indifferent little retreat wept not
with the cries of the forgotten
But there stood the little town of apathy
Beautiful in it's cold unknowing.
Content in its peaceful lethargy.
In a time not so long ago,
Within this very walls resided a lad,
Aged in his soul, but not so much in years
Though he was of nimble shape
He possessed a heart of old
With eyes that glow of judgement, wise.
And wit so sharp that with a single stroke
Could fell the iron walls
of the land of the faiths, three.
Lonely Joe, of the Shore, call him they did.
