When I lose myself, in the quiet, I go
I dig till the tin scrapes rock and Orr
Find soil in the sand and make it so

In my sign, unfound
Reach down into the well for a drink of cold
Pluck stars from the sky once young and align

It is not enough to claim these seas, my own which roll
And boats that turn on waves a dime

No
What I do in each moment is this

To the pit of my stomach I reach
I grind

I don't care much for titles or trophies
I've never been one to reminisce over
past accomplishments
I only want to destroy the spirit of
the man before me
I will only be satisfied with victory
when I feel his grit wither away
When his sense of self is lost
I will have found myself again
Nietzsche is smiling at me from his cave