Here I stand at the top of this hill
Which I once thought was high.
It is nothing but a burial mound
For every instance of my life.
At least I know it will only grow
But it builds me up with
Disturbances and time.
When I lie down
On the treacherous ground,
Whispers grow louder
Louder and louder in my head
Chiding this growing man
Until he goes mad
Until he goes tumbling down
Away from the sounds
Which only grow louder
Louder and louder