I wait these tender years
A hole within a hole,
Turning slender gears

Which none wish to extol.
What curse is day to day!
These blindy crawling moles

Carve a painful maze
Into a heart already hung
With the nitre of decay.

The apathy, it stung.
Your naked fur and tooth—
They had me half unstrung.

My head, it knew the truth:
"They care until you're near."
To what end, your lust for youth?