Acid, like fire, burns the skin,

And when you least expect it, let’s you in,

And though all the while you sit and wait,

For acid to scorch you and tell you of hate,

It tells you of hell, a fire so cold,

It tells you the person you are when you’re old,

To die awake in such a fire,

To beg for sleep, to hold on for a while,

And as you drift off into wanderlust bliss,

Acid will kill you and give you a kiss,

Onto your throat, you hold out for a while,

Beg on your knees for it to stop all the while,

Your eyes they’re so tender, from the dreams in your sleep,

From the mornings, the nights, those hours you weeped,

And acid so violent, it begs to be tasted,

It begs to be cherished, mirrored and chased,

And to succumb to a thing, what would be that?

Acidic’s the one who lives in combat,

To take with you one thing, and one thing at best,

Is the feeling of triumph over your death,

And to think all the while, who would be me?

If I didn’t fight fire, if I didn’t dream,

Acid, like fire, it burns the skin,

And when you least expect it, you let it in.