What I believed were the doings of affection
Stoked the flames of my billowing deceit
They tower higher into silver garbed skies
Ever looming, above thresholds to come

But her smoke stacks cannot reach
Far beyond each rolling height I claim
The scalding valor still urges me along
So I may yield the fabric of her memory
To the ages beading their hasty retreat

It was by her whim
I graciously crumbled
Sailing atop elation
And swelled with cheap pride

It is before her whim
Where madness unveiled
And I trampled its coming sorrow
Stoic and unashamed