We all took a flight of Fancy
towards the cliff of self-immolation.
I took my self-immolation for my darling Nancy
but she never took it, no rhyme or reason.
We fell into a spiral
the light grabbing the sides
letting go and hurling skyward
letting our bodies become dark, moving tides.
We cried and moaned
Failing to become ourselves
That was the only thing about us that was known
We failed to become ourselves.