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.