I'm on the edge . . .
I'm a tightrope walker
Suddenly afraid of heights . . .
Fearful of falling into the moat far below.

I feel like a small, insignificant boy,
Lost in the wheels of time
And caught in the snares of space.
Nothing seems easy or safe anymore:
Not by myself -- not by anyone!

It appears easy enough to go back;
Just turn around in mid-air --
If I do, I'm certain I'll fall from Heaven;
The earthworms will spit me out
Like a liter of lukewarm, salty, tea.

Do I have to sacrifice myself
On a bloodthirsty, spiked cross,
To garner some sympathy
For my hellbound plight. . . .

Is that what you've waited
Your whole curst life for?
...