Turning against the turning of the earth,
Turning against the mourning of his skill,
As good as dead of night in day's still birth
He would put off this piracy of will.
Here south of self, here west of all success,
His brainless heart nailed to a crux of veins
Must take in more, more of that sweet duress
And break through breaks to give himself restraint.
Now spineless body, help him stand awake.
Now grand delusions, help him make belief
That he fights bravely for some noble sake,
A hero dashing toward caffeine plus grief,
As if to save a world by having a soul
That could survive the little mind's black hole.