Walls crumbling in from all sides,
Buried I am in a pile of misunderstandings and recless emotions.
I climb these trees of ryhme and try to hide,
But in them all I find is terrible notions.

Walking along with myself,
I see everything so clear,
I'm three reaching for a book to read on my shelf,
And I reach without fear.

I look into my book and it's polluted with lust,
So taken with it I am,
That I can't smell the ever growing must,
Yet around me it comes, and covers.