I wish not to fall upon the poor mans death,
The death of broken glass, of infinite sickness.
The fire raging,
Raging within my soul pleads no
To a passing around my waist, for
Wasted life it would be, calling me free.
I musn’t live to fight, but to greet
The running rays blinding nocturnal cries.
Live, live the blistering light,
The
Greed I
Know,
The
never ending
Fright.