Where the water is dry,
Where the fire is wet,
A river of tears stream from my eyes.
Where the sun is dark and gray,
and the sky is mucky blue,
I wander with no place to stay.
Where lips curl downwards,
where the only noise is a spark of hatred,
I climb outwards.
To the west of despair,
To the east of endless flares,
To the south of gloom,
To the north of wilted instead of bloomed.