Eulogy.

Goodness.
The way you walk this town at night! As if
You expect the stars to swoon and drop down;
The moon to relinquish his crown, and praise
The way you outshine the day.

Must say,
I admire the way you never frown at defeat,
Because realistically, you're no more
The king than you are the clown. Though,
As you are, you'd make the latter proud.

I'll make the call to
Sound the sirens. Loud.

We've got another casualty,
Trampled by their crowd.

You tragic little thing,
How do you like me now?