There but for the grace of God

I can see myself one day going dark

The dying screech of a faint little spark

And if I choose to take the other turn

A roaring hot fire blazes me into an urn

Thirty years of fear and terror

Comes to an end I remove my tether

Undo my laces and shuck off my shoes

I barefoot creep warmward and gently choose

To scuttle and snuff out the burning light

And better reflect the pale moon rite