Over the hill of the crushed garnet glass
Beyond the orange-cinnamon sky
The Lonely Man lives, in a house of cards
Alone with his smoldering lies

And I’m dreading to see him, this paper bag man,
With his terrible cigarette eyes
For he asks me that Question I dare not ignore
Whose answer I’d rather deny

The paper bag man, he laughs as I cry,
But his eyes weep blood if I smile
His heart’s full of cinder
And mine could be tinder
The way that he’s set it afire

The ashes, they choke me
I’m drowning in dust
As the smoke forms a whispery shroud
The tattered man throws back his head with a snap
And I realize he’s laughing in spite of himself

The flames leap up higher
A melting stained glass of violet, ruby, and gold
The paper man’s shredding himself with his scissors
His skin turns to crackles
His ember grin crumbles

A gusty roar, and I say goodbye
To that haunting paper bag man.
His card house collapses, his ashes are scattered,
But he’s still not done with me yet

For there’s still that Question that he’d come to ask
It deceptively floats on the breeze
Through tempestuous twilights and paths left untrodden
He’s finally come for me

He still wants to know,
Not a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’
But that eternal, confounded
-so darkly expounded-
The forever cry of
WHY