We loved you though we never knew you.

We scorned you though you never hurt us.

We laughed at your brokenness, while we ignored our own.

You wore your insecurities on your face.

We tucked ours deep inside.

You were no god, but we worshipped you.

Your melodies, our hymns of praise.

But the record's stopped.

The chord is ripped.

The glove and the moon are buried.

The mirror is broken,

And the illusion is blurred

For the Celestial was merely a man.