Freefall Good morning, m'am. How do you do? Isn't it sad I can't say that "I love you"? What is this thing that binds my tongue? 'Tis fear, I fear, holding me to this rung... For what is my past, where the memories flow? 'Tis a series of climbs, and falls from the blows... They hurt less now than they did at the start... But with every fall a piece of me does depart... And one day soon I shant feel the fall, For all that remains will be a cast-iron ball. Though for now I still have a soft outer shell, To which every blow brings the pain of hell... This shell shall exist for some time to come, But while 'tis here can it never be numb... So perhaps I will climb to you meet at the end; But after I fall... will you still be my friend?