Pursuing, perfection
Through and through
Horse-pulled, on a pompous carriage

To oblivion’s door and beyond
Where I’ll strain and I’ll search
As a serf, for the rest of my days

In service to this idol I’ve born
I’ll roam for that threshold
Stout, blinded, and vain

Kindling a dream
In spite of the falls, sure and steep
Where reality awaits
And blooms upon landing