In this world in a broken chair, sits a broken boy. He sits and weeps, He dreams of sleep. He doesn't eat, He doesn't sweep. The filth just piles up, it piles and creeps. Outside lies a broken path, Lied a dead toy cat. It slowly froze, It froze from heat. The heat of love that dissipated, Deep. Now it rots among the dust, The dust that piles, Towers like rust. The morning comes, It is too late, The cat is gone. The boy alone.