Back To Lost

Looks at the roads been travelled every morn when he awakes, Smiles at his few glories and sheds tears for his mistakes. Can feel the ancient breezes that have long since passed this way, Their echoes are still ringing through the sins for which he’ll pay. Been forced into the valleys, his journeys kept to the dark, The guiding light's holding hope in nothing more than a spark. Prayers remain unrecognized deep in shadows of his gloom, The mirror keeps his secret underneath a pale costume. He’s become but a number on a faded page long creased, And hung up like memories in the bellies of the priests.