• Deep inside the raging fire,
    A timber found within,
    Fuel what with an endless tire,
    To burn what's yet put in,

    The wood so delicately gone,
    A thief came by and stole it,
    The blaze dies down to wisp from bon,
    To never shall console it,

    And when you say a phrase of cold,
    Not only do you hurt them,
    You steal that of which they've been told,
    And leave it there to pen,

    At times you may decieve a friend,
    Or maybe even foe,
    To which you steal their trust on end,
    And cut a stunning blow,

    Perhaps you go and and humiliate,
    A stranger you've not yet,
    Care to meet, communicate,
    And steal what they should get,

    And then you prove your rival wrong,
    And think that they'll bounce back,
    You stolen part their pride in long,
    But hard repentance do you lack,

    With every action you may make,
    You steal a little piece,
    Of what is now a murky lake,
    But used to be a sea