When it all goes to **** and the skit
Calls for your respite, are you going to be there
For the bare skinned hanging mid-air
By fingers gripping wet wasp stingers
Getting pelted by insult slingers?

Or will you hide from those stones and venom
Let slide the froze-to-bone, not help ‘em

The onlookers lovingly smile as I plummet.