There he was in that school, an aquarium

There he was singing the blues

Not a fish like the rest but a bird

A bird who couldn’t fly, forced to swim with the fish

Alone on his on isle, marooned by the jet-set

The water so clear, of his tears

 

Nobody to speak to,

Nobody to share his velvet voice

So he writes in his journal

About his miseries, hopes, dreams, fantasies

But about reality too

 

He is alone on his bed of sand until

Comes a young maiden, Mary

The two talk on the field

He tells her what would be his final work

About thistles and flowers in the blacksmith’s yard

 

He continues telling her his story until she cries, holding her head in the ground

He explains that she stained her white dress

She then puts on him a crown of thistles, she calls him true and pure

 

They continue the short lived romance until a gang of older boys come

They attack him, ripping his journal

Mary tries to help but one of them holds her down

They beat him till his last breath

They leave, she runs for help

 

She looks frantically, but the cards were dealt, his path on earth is over

Mary runs to him

She cries over his dead body

She begins piecing the journal back, story by story

She brings them to a publisher, a book is born

 

Misunderstood in life, revered after life