Inner strife is timeless; it is the continual decision, to and fro unremittingly. It is an arduous battle, and both duelers will die, with the victor being the one who comes back to life.
In daylight he’s sleepwalking, at night he lies awake looking at the stars daydreaming.. .
I struggle not to slake this ache that shakes me, it makes my dreams, then breaks them and wakes me,
I struggle to not be in a muddle, to be a rake befuddled, and take a lake as if it’s a puddle.
It’s a doddle to diddle and be in the middle fiddling, instead of looking like I’m piddling whilst my mind is twiddling,
it’s a riddle how to walk straight when you’re twoddling, but I guess cuddling is muffled coddling, and you have to hustle hard to model a sovereign!
The weight of our choices, and the gravity of our final condition, rests solely on our own shoulders. But remember, your circle of friends will either be a garland or a noose on the Last Day.