[i]The colors of his morning
The darkness of his night
Little graves that gave no warning
A sun that brought no light
He saw his whole world breaking
That tortured soul I met
In the prison of his making
The man who can’t forget
 
I can still hear the way that he cried
for the ones he was missing
I can still hear the way that he cried
for the ones he had lost
 
He saw them in the rivers
He felt them in the rain
In dreams he heard them whisper
The truth that is his pain
He caused the whole world’s breaking
That tortured soul I met
In a prison of his making
The man who can’t forget[/i]