Lost is the stuttering fool when forced to admit what he's done
Moreso when what comes of it is a poignant fate cast upon him
For what comes from the minds of those who stumble and scrape
Without purpose to their name cannot be undone nor negated
Lest we fall prey to the same we fight the fight we wish was already won
The battle for sanity and understanding commencing at great personal cost
And what is left standing at the very end may not be who we remember