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A farrier’s tale thou called my claims,

but it’s thy mind that errs in a hermits cave.

O, no matter which path thou choose,

they all will lead thee only to one quiet grave.

Thou spiral downwards - stumbling and running

towards what some might call their hell,

And at the darker end, ye siblings of clay,

thy soul what’s left for thee to sell.

Beware thine words - my former dearest friend!

The pit thou art talking of could be thine own;

Life follows along winding ways of quicksand;

A decision made on journey no one can bring down.