The Barrow

I know that my roots must stretch down to Hell for my boughs to reach Heaven; I know this too well.

I tire of this, though, when my actions and thoughts come straight from my roots where wood tangles and rots.

I always seek Balance but my mind's sordid squatters are entirely too fond of the corrosive waters.

Perhaps that's the thing - alchemically speaking; it's part of the process, this havoc I'm wreaking.

That being said, I try to be good But the darkness, it seems Has soaked into my wood.