I seek, I stumble, I seek, I stumble. What is to become of me? My soul, my despondent spirit, such a mockery to existence, such a fable, a fantasy. I plodder through the sense of loneliness; love is such a mystery. I am beaten, broken, helpless, and a wreck to society's grin. My dissenting mind is difficult, and my will stubborn. I have been underwater all these years, and at the sight of you, ready to reach land again. But alas, it not be. I have fought these serpents and now I rest in the seas. I cannot find you here, but I know where you are.