There is nothing greater, in my mind,
Than to see myself lying flat,
With a stream of crimson as my remaining color.
Fertile, I am,
And, to leave behind,
All the water and land,
New drops upon the soil, as other’s tears,
For I’d care not, for their sadness,
Just the dream I achieved, in seeing my end,
By a stream, a current, or a road
Towards closure, I do go,
With all of destiny to show.
I am nothing, as I know,
Without the love that brought me low.
I simply rise, towards the skies,
And hold nothing within, but lies.
Nothing more than the ambition,
To find, to grind, certain things to dust.
Without love, I am simply a man,
Who does what he knows he can,
It is a man’s ambition,
To break himself down,
When love does not welcome itself,
Upon his loosely-hanging crown.