Is it thy scripture that my Heart cannot harmonise,
In its passion, its melody, with thine own?
For the girth of thine own, mine swells in size,
The tyrant of my inhibitions, overthrown.
Towards uncertain day we meandering go,
Afflicted by the bane of bitterness,
But I will be dreaming, rocking, to and fro,
Begetting my care with joy and tenderness.
My deeds betray my naivety, caprice,
It is my fickle Heart doth rule my actions,
That govern my wild, feral mouth,
And alienate my affections.
    For thee I have surged, and plummeted Hell,
    Did you rejoice the tallest tree to fell?