Crumpled and folded like drawings you wouldn’t keep
Wracked by these tremors infecting my limbs
Clinched in a fist like my fingers are weaponry
What is this agony?
Is there no sympathy?
I know that you will see much more composure
When this is over; if this is over
I know that we can be civil and sober
Once we recover; if we recover
Maybe the antidote lies undiscovered
Under these tremors; under these covers
Maybe in time we will find it together
But for tonight I am destined to suffer