The Ballad of A Blue Boy

When I was a boy, fresh in the world,

I nearly left for the deep dark below.

I fought for my air, wrapped by a cord,

Then soon enough felt the oxygen flow.

I was born and soon deemed a fighter,

Body laid under the sign of the bull.

Meant to hold the spark for the fire,

Everyone said I’ve a future of gold.

But who am I but a simple wordsmith,

Conjuring up everyday charm.

The fight they spoke of was merely a myth,

Now I’m a boy that’s cast out to the farm.

‘Cause I am no Herculean soldier,

I am only a child of eighteen.

I have only searched for closure,

Or a glimpse of what could have been.

I am the one that you left out weeping;

I am the one that you kicked to the ground,

And I am the one that has kept on dreaming,

Thinking that one day he might be found,

But I must say that I don’t have the fight,

That you imagined all those years ago,

Someone has gone and turned out my light,

What am I to do when I’m sent down below?