Deliver me not from this world of 'perfection', allow me to withstand this realm of rejection;
and let me listen to the cries of sorrow, so that I will be able to tolerate tomorrow.
Here I stand with the world at my level, but the voice of failure is the voice of the devil;
and I still don't know when it will crash around me, just that I will seek shelter under the maple tree.
Tonight I wonder about your basement flooding with lies, pondering the time of which one of you dies;
and when you perish, remember to cherish,
and all that's above.