Breaking of agile pieces of flesh you have torn.
Taking this fragile soul like a mask you have worn.
Trust is a magnet; A fake crown I humbly wear.
Thrusts have become stagnant, and beyond my repair.
Lying in darkness the dead now awake.
Trying through blindness you drive in the stake.
Silence is beckoned by your foolish pride.
Balance is reckoned as you walk in stride.
Frightened now I walk this shallow ground.
Hardened you balk, yet loudly you sound.
Showing you only what you handle well.
Ceasing ever lonely in our bondage of hell.