******* falling bricks,
Knock me to the track,
So I get the mud-view.
There is so much ****,
Pulling, holding me back,
From telling you, "I love you."
Bricks made of ego,
And track made of mud,
So the path I take,
Doesn't reduce the thud,
Of trauma to the head,
And boil to the blood,
So I wish for death,
Until the final fiery flood.