Control your happenstance, or would you now prefer
To make your getaway along the Edens spur?
You're roten fruit still hanging from the tree
But the ground might rise to meet you in the morning
To seize is not enough, and you would gladly pay
the hands of stranglers to choke this coming day
Shed cod tears with the mourners at its wake
Then rest content and weary in the evening
Cold comfort, hidey hole
Drink your philter and be still
Old decisions, hard to earn
There's nothing dearer than free will
Your clan is clamoring to rend you limb from limb
And chase you through the straits, though you can hardly swim
Pleas arise, you're sending far and wide
Your begging prayer to Neptune as you're falling