O, how the mighty fall to rise again.
Tell me a story of the greatest man
And I will speak of him no more
Testify to those less fortunate
That all men stain the battlefield
Even from abroad having not taken arms
Deny! They say, and none the wiser.
Old and grey, pathetic miser
With a bald head, now for seven years.
Laugh if you must, at this sage
We all will likewise become with age.
Or perhaps we live forever still
Hill over hill
Filling up my mind and memory
Maiming my magnificent mental masterpiece.
Oh, no, I cannot be certain
When mortal coil burns out
Or time to open the curtain
On stages not yet spoken about.