Is it a word or a feeling That I can gift to you, Mr. Fleeting? Drops upon a wooden floor, A trickle down a metal spout, Wait, wait A second drop, It will soon come out. Crush Deathly and growing, Looking down, the sky screams And sounds all around. I'm weary of it all And soon may I sit back And let this house fall To its bitter end. A notice, a forgiveness Have you let me borrow, Mr. Lend? Give me your helping hand Be my railing up the slippery step But don't be cold: I've to forgive you for the last one, The last lie that you told, Mr. Bold Will you listen to me now? You're getting old: You scold, And Iām here to listen through it all. From the top, though Down, down, you fall A crash, a boom, a bang What a blush in your white armor What a change.