So the certanty is I can get no air, Getting nowhere at all, Open-ended and suspended one by one, In the slipstream, And Harvest hold the horrbag, Emotion starts to lag, With panache I keep a-crashing, Through the sky, No compa**ion have I. Kick a kiss of superstition and I cry, "Just a guide or I throw All the panic I can muster, Threatening to the cluster"; The hangman's who*e so obvious, Discretion's such a drag, But I know his apparatus snows my mind, When it gets too far out. Guard the ribs and fall, I long to catch my breath, condemm it all As the number I become, They count me out a volunteer. See how they run in silence up the belfry steps, Each unaffected by the sight of the blistered skin; Someone to calm me till the pounding in my head stops, Over the tens of thousands find no way out of in: Through the pandemonium, My heart is beating like a drum, Barricaded in here, crawling's getting creepier, With my head in my hands, all the heaven in my heart.