Away from this life back to the swamp trampling
the burning ashes of my shattered dreams underfoot
may be facing at last with all my certainties
which have been burnt on the altar of self confidence there's no pupil in the eye of the stillborn prophet back to the swamp falling back to the swamp since now certainties have to belong to my fears nothing is safe definition's dead as stillborn prophet I could hope but hope doesn't fit the facts.