I've destroyed myself so many times
Daily, at ease behind enemy lines
With only me, myself and I
amongst thieves, assassins, spies
picking at my enterprise
finding comfort in the lies
contorted truths, flow through just fine
and mine are the best of its kind
I have tried to question why
but my queries become sacrifice
Why should I try breaking ground
where life seems to be scarcely found?
How is one to build a home
with nothing but a stepping stone?