Dragonman

I'm here to mourn the Dragonman,
he died in this mazelike city street.
His bones were left in a garbage can,
an unmarked crypt marking his defeat.

The Dragonman did not see a world
made of iron and steel and moved by cars;
The Dragonman walked with wings unfurled
watching ages filled with ageless stars.

This long dead place he'd always ignore,
although the cityscape tried quite hard,
to force his feet to contact floor,
to leave him disenchanted and scarred.

I'm here to mourn the Dragonman,
to execute his estate;
for this city killed the Dragonman,
he could not abide it's hate.

Before he died he left me his wings,
for few things did he value so high,
and so the city – claiming his things,
believed that with him his wings did die.

Now I am become the Dragonman,
I return unto this cursed place,
to fight the city as no one can,
to force facelessness to take face.

Your world it is dying and people are crying
bemoaning the greatest of lies,
that there's nothing to do save bow down to you
and give up the stars and the skies

But City, you won't break me.
City, I will not die.
You see, there's no way you'll make me,
give up my ability to fly.