As I've made my wretched bed,
I should surely sleep within it.
Yet not let false ego go to my head,
Or chew the fallacy to the bit.
All I've found within the fold,
Is a wicked width of cold.

As I burn the candle at both ends,
I walk a harried tightrope.
Soon it will split in many bends,
The route I choose with hope
Will lead me to the promised land,
The correct companion hand in hand.