Had I not been, so long ago,
A reflection of my soul ;
Would that which is be left without,
All hope and self-control ?

One dares to fuel lifes foolish ways
To satisfy his thirsts ;
Does he not see that shortened space
Betwixt the candle first ?

Tis best I face, must not erase
The tortures of my mind ;
Why probe and knead, a cause to bleed,
When I've an axe to grind ?

Though not insane, perhaps inane,
With pride and standing tall ;
I'll raise a toast, salute my ghosts,
Who walk in Haggard's Halls.