There's something surely burning
When I get the yearning
To be better than I am.

There's a flicker of contrition
That spreads from my ambition
To be better than I am.

My temperature increases,
My spirit gets heat blisters;
I will concoct a balm.

I'll fan the flames with sorrow,
Add the worries of tomorrow,
To burn away the waste.

When purged
I'll have the embers,
To ensure that I remember
What first ignited me
To be better than I am.