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The Fatal Balance

The sickness, insomnia and the pacing
Years of a blazing soul
Blood from my heart begins racing
Round a body scarcely clinging onto control

The knot of physical cowardice
Tells no truth of the virtues I hold
As a transparent conceited philanderer
Strikes as fear leaves me cold

I can no longer delay the commencement of battle
With my raison d'etre under threat
Spirit must break the anatomical chains
Upon this pivotal season I shall sweat

Concerned colleagues approach me
Informed by the melancholy nature of my face
"Wie lange, mein freund, wie lange...?"
Before the encompassing finality of death's embrace.

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