I put my hands
Up through the sands
Of the hourglass.
Please pass
The hammer and nail.
My burned heart strings, pale
In comparison to live
Bees in a hive
Never feeling
The sands, nor peeling
Wetlands off brain surfaces.
No, I'll take my heart strings
Put them with all the other things.
Then, I raise my hammer to the glass.
I spill out onto the shining brass.
Cold and blinded I cry,
"This out here is all a lie."