Fire On The Moon

I feel like I've been the finest fool

Hanging on by my fingertips

The ground gives way beneath my feet

A black cloud descends

I lose my grip

Buried in the mud

Lying here with no relief

The world I've known is paper thin

Torn in shreds my finest hour

A drowning man still battling

One breath rattle gathering

Dust is dust, clean me now

All my strings are gutted

Turn it down

In the paralytic nursery of bygone fears

My old adversary reappears

Still confronted by the many faces of Eve

No matter how I try to heal this injury

Still the trophies line up on the wall

Pride that comes before a fall.