I can think of the good times, tender and sweet, warm like sun rays, comforting like a soft hand
They are keepers of my hope, when everything else erodes in gloom
Yet they make me see how small I am, or it's mere perspective?
I quietly watch parts of me dying, maybe the whole thing
You cheerfully came to save, ignoring wounds of your own
it's not helping, it's not helping
vicious poison oozing out
from a million pores of the decaying shell
burning your skin, eating your soul
a final slash on my throat
Hope be our saviour
Hope be our guide to hell