We all took a flight of Fancy

towards the cliff of self-immolation.

I took my self-immolation for my darling Nancy

but she never took it, no rhyme or reason.

We fell into a spiral

the light grabbing the sides

letting go and hurling skyward

letting our bodies become dark, moving tides.

We cried and moaned

Failing to become ourselves

That was the only thing about us that was known

We failed to become ourselves.