I despise this, this half-baked dream,

I had some years ago, so thoughtless, 

I’ve become a hot-blood. 

My fears now become obsessions, 

Obsessions become old and die, 

Only for me to find new ones again, 

And then I pick, I absorb whatever I can, 

To keep me going, destroying the vitality within. 

I’m blessed but I have brought myself into this dreaded dungeon, 

Thrown away the key, wallowing in this pit of hot-blooded, half-baked mysteries.