Freyed threads
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 A man sat at his desk one day,
 While the threads of sanity began to frey,
 His mind started to twist and turn,
 From the norm that we not once did urn.

 He would never again see the light,
 Never again judge wrong from right,
 For on this final day of grace,
 His soul would be in a different place.

 His faith in God, still so strong,
 And at his desk he stayed so long,
 And prayed to the almighty man above,
 To come once more the peaceful dove.

 The rift of death came to close,
 He tripped from the evil overdose,
 And fell into a deserted land,
 Where none would take his shaking hand.

 A booming voice called from on high,
 Like thunder crashing in the sky,
 You are not the man I left on earth,
 But you do deserve another birth.