The Shell of Mortal Taste

With foolish hope he crossed the land

The wretch who sought the maiden's hand

Beneath the shell that he had grown

He called with voice that was his own

His desperate hope was not returned

As what he asked for was not earned

Not worthy or familiar, he

Hoped for what was not to be

The shell he grew he finally knew

To take his heart and cloud his view

And as his head fell in his hands

He laughed, became an evil man