The Man Before Me.

I can't. My sorrow, my woe and want to not go is dimmed by the man before me. His surely proud face broken down to this place destroys my pride and my hope. Wandering eyes try to disguise the pain seething below. Arms crossed to hold in a dreadful sin: to be seen in the eye as weak. Fidgeting round alone by his girl, he tries desperately to furl what he's unable to hide while they try, oh they try, to fly where they might to grieve. My sorrow and woe is so far gone, I know, for the lack of aid I may give.