A Fool's Death

Drop after drop my calm burns by the cold fireplace like the rain on the glass, reminding me of a taping dance. Patience is the bastard son of virtue running in short supply. The wind is adding to the window's torment, impatiently watching my sorrows etched on my forehead. I go out, drenching my haunting fears adding to my quarantine torment. Can't leave the house cause I have a compromised immune system unallied with my self-restraint. Sky's clear now, water cleaner, the bitter chill's definitely over. Not wearing your mask, that's alright we 'll fix you with something light-colored to wear, good now lay your head back and let me be clear, your fool's act has cost you your life and now we're in the air.