I read the words of a hero.
Listen to the speech of a borderline saint.

But I'm to hurt to feel their intentions.
By the world, it's people, and their taint.

My mind is a mountainside ocean,
Swirling with the currents of life.

Feeling the way of the currents.
With dreams of dancing,
Through fallen, shafts of light.

The world seems this very mountain,
And the lava, the people within.
Constantly sputtering their danger.
Brimming, to spill out their sin.

Long has this mountain been feeble.
And oozing of lava persists.
Yet with no where to go but dissipation,
On this hellish world, I stay, wind insists.

I'm tired of hearing their selfish whispers,
Only through them, will change ever occur.
So for now, hells water just sputters,
And through me, it's oozing always burns.