Perhaps if the world stopped turning round
I wouldn't be wondering so hopelessly
Into the forsaken dirt of the ground
If you stopped hurting me so endlessly
But maybe it is just my twisted mind
The blanket covering me in the dark
When through the misery there is a rhyme
Of deep-rooted poetry that is art
And more through the misery, there is you
Fiding me in my poisonous palace
Maybe you shouldn't have wished me anew
And in this irony, I shall no bask
When you come to tell me what you've meant
Because all you ever were was hell sent