The man that wasn't afraid of time

Hanging in the songs of yesterday
The man of hope becomes unhinged
And time has arrived to be his enemy
In the world so far from his mind
And time will indeed wait for him
In a damp cold corner of the room
Stalking him when he turns his back
To the bleak world he left behind
But lost and desperate in his souls abyss,
The man looks not back upon the grey sky
But within his own self he bleeds
Not blood, but a drop of melancholy
He draws from his own heart a feather
Which soars upon a sea of tears