Work Text:
Fiery of mane but now diminished,
Lysandre cuts a striking figure.
Chasing after his unobtainable dream: of beauty, of doing away with the obscene.
Still stewing in hopelessness far too long, now his only thoughts are of pulling the trigger.
Give and take, but he gave too much.
Philanthropist to misanthrope is a slippery slope,
Hark Kalos, do you not see his doomsday spiral?
As he searches for any way at all to cope.
How many smiles were all but masks?
Do you not see the filth he reviles?
Give him hope in us, please. Consider his words...
Before he decides humanity was simply a trial.
Forlorn. Staring into the void... He’s doomed. It is fated, perhaps, for his attempt to take too much.
Defeated, still the weapon fires - lighting up the sky with his desires.
Scorched earth, nothing remains. But in the ashes of Lysandre’s failure,
Do you think he will ever find that which he wishes to acquire?
How much pain must a mind go through to forget?
Too much. Too much. Listen, he suffers... Deep below.
Many saviours donned green and black cometh,
And a new man is born with immortality bestowed.
He has one eye closed to the world now,
But the other has seen the light.
He wanders, for he has several thousand years of atonement.
But L will reach new heights (that Lysandre could only dream of)
A genuine smile,
A hopeful heart, no longer tainted with despair.
Still a remembered dream follows alongside him,
But he has so much more life now to share.