All the fuel I’ll ever need,
Is stored within your one misdeed;
A weakened heart can sometimes leak,
Silenced tongues amongst the meek.
Counsellors then knew me so well
And locked me in a stony spell;
I did not have a crust to earn,
Paralysis tick in bracken fern.
All the fuel fends apathy,
Forms scherzos in a symphony;
I have this table where I’ll sit
And that is all for me to fit;
Every wrong that went before
Becomes a song or newfound lore;
To live as long as coelacanth,
Aconite blue and amaranth.