Times are tough. Just a puff. One moment of despair.
Just a hair on a razor's edge. Just one step off heaven's ledge;
I'll dangle, before my wings
smoke
and fall from my back.
Just a puff.
Wings are for saps.

("And it's done," he whispers. "Too late to turn back.")
One failure is unconscionable to the voice in my ear.
There's time yet for that.
There's time yet for that.
My mantra reminds me of that will that I lack.