I was not the Imposter

Refractured, aye, how broken I am in the shards in their eyes
I see what I know is nothing and all they know is everything
I stand naked in the silhouette of my envy, of my heroes

My sodden soles, so far from their footpaths of grandiosity
E'nif their grapes and cheese are props... communion, their play
I would die for the script so to sit at the table amidst my foes

In the glass of their mansions, I see my refractured fiend
Though their doors swing open,  I flee to my dismal dwelling
Even through tears, I cry and my ghoul echoes back my woes

Premonition smoke from my piece, will my worries know no peace?
Click-clack. stop. A whisper: "My friend, can you not see the sun?

Shards are a piece of the whole; you are in their eyes.
The sod is from the path, and so you are close.

Hear your tears become a mighty battlecry!"