I go through this world like a machine,
But whats the point in a broken machine,
That chokes on it's own oil.

^

How can I save you,
When I cant bear the thought..
Of not being able to.

Looking back,
I just wish you left me...
A little bit sooner.

At least soon enough..
So I was less like you.

You burn,
Your flames rise more,
Offering them warmth,
You burn and burn,
Their wooden throats,
And their cold inners,
Now only love it when you're scorching hot.

So you burn and...
you burn,
They are surely pleased.

But the more you burn,
The easier they become cold,
And the quicker you cease,
To smoke.

Oh he the wounded wounder,
With wounds that bled on us all,
His Daughters and Sons,
Now bounder to the flogger,
Cursed to always follow that whip's call.

To survive you only need to change skin,
Never heart.

The world is rotting,
And I'll rather rot with it,
Then to be a white flower,
Warily waiting to be wilted.