At the wake, he stares at the room
With a nod, is welcomed in
A polished lens captures the light
But stories tell where he's been
Before they start, he asks if it's real
But no one cares to answer him
What he really wants to know, is how a young man goes
From an angel in Gilead, to the CO2RA where he first had
Fantasies of service, a neophile but nervous
He was told to stay, so he sailed away
The situation calls for ice and stone, it's easier without the ties to home
Just make sure there's someone in mind, you give the signal they pull the line
Rumor says the day's to blame, that we're still the same
Try telling your eyes that; they're reflecting nothing back
It's a prize, but the name isn't known, it's a story built on atmospherics alone
It's hard to know where the sequence starts
Given what the metrics are
You said you were on to something big
But I bet you never did the Kenosha Kid
Am I right, did I hit it on the nose
Can you answer in the form of polyphony-prose?