A fine young man,

a picture of life,

dislikes himself

in the mirror.

We saw him off,

we talked of love,

we talked of sin

and forgot him.

A fine young man,

a picture of life,

died alone

in the gutter.

We drank the wine,

we felt the pain,

but no one felt

like his mother.

Father's not there,

a coward's choice,

he scorned his son,

so inhuman!

We shook our heads

and turned away,

we also denied

that we knew him