Boy crusader,
Forever at war with the external world,
You have walked countless miles in mute conversation,
Cannibalising the scenery with your plastic smile.
You believe without doubt that all of creation is merely a plaything of your mind,
And if the world won’t bend to your will,
Over the cinders of your well-schooled desires you will tread, barefoot,
And gasp your last breath,
Into the face of any dying man who dares appose you.