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Make amends for all that you’ve done because your feet are in the fire and you’ve been handed a gun. Okay, I lied: you’re on the pyre, not a favorite son. You could never purify her. It’s already begun. Just give up.
It’s my luck, I fell for the look and while I wandered alone I shot myself in the foot. It’s not a joke, it’s just unknown. I put myself on the hook, wrote a poem on a tombstone, and burned all my books. Oh, no, no.
I've got the alpine in mind, all the way above the tree line so we can see over the horizon, always see the sun rising.
