The house is on fire,
The bed I once relaxed on,
Is now burning to nothing;
"The walls resist wind and flames"
Oh, how the architect was a liar
From my power pen on the desk,
To the lively, beautiful lawn,
I could see my home crumbling down...
I sit there,
On the couch watching,
Thinking of numerous people to blame
I waited for the fusillade of heat to burn me,
Skin rotting from ember,
To bear the smoke,
My eyes no longer gutsy
Suffocating more with anger,
And as I ****** in my last two breaths,
I realised I was the architect,
I set the fire ...