It was we who, in selfish pursuit of pleasure,
Did place you up onto that wall.
Set apart from those that had come before
But abandoned in such precarious balance
Requiring tender, nurturing care
To prosper and grow, not to fall
And be shirked from this body
In a stream of blood.
Delicate shells are so easily broken.

But was I who imbibed the acid rain,
That fell to scald and sear
Your fragile, undeveloped skin.
And I inhaled the acrid wind
That invaded and poisoned
Your embryonic lungs.

Your infantile resilience was not enough
To stand in the face of my elements.
The constant battering was all it took
To force you off that wall, make you fall
Scarred and broken into this world.
And neither I nor all the kings men,
With their starched white coats
And implements gleaming,
Could hope to piece you together again.