The weather seemed to match my emotional fizzle
It rained on from despondent grey sky
Not even mustering a proper storm, rather a drab constant drizzle
The sky was me and I was the sky, I couldn't be that guy,

Could I?
He who waxed on ‘bout woe
Yet about what had nothing to show
I remain, yet the rain moved on, nothing more than a by-the-by

Sigh after sigh, I felt myself slip
Deeper and deeper into my dip
Yearning for something to excite
Yet knowing not what came on as a fright

I am no longer the sky, rather the sea
In constant consequence movement, with no will of its own
Indeed, indeed, that guy is me
The one so drear, who must atone for crimes uncommitted, all alone

A prisoner of fate
I am now the ground
Nothing to soothe me but a soul made of slate
Now I must find a joy in this drear, to enjoy the ride, for are we not all hell-bound?