Insanity blossoms from the soil of love
Watered by the daily rains of his tears
Fed by the dark rays of the longing sun
Alone in the terror of his greatest fears

Helpless to move from his small clay pot
Planted in freshness seven seasons ago
He withers in the misery of waning hopes
Dies a little more with each passing moon

Powerless to change his sorrowful fate
He accepts what destiny has wrought
Retreats deeper into his solitary hell
Finds something resembling solace in the dim