Fallen to Fly

I can be both arsonist and artist.

Tearing it up, and peace within love.

The mix can be nauseating.

A Soul constantly debating.

Sometimes whiskey comes in,

Like a blanket over it, warm.

Relief from the storm.

Our father, who dwells in us,

Confusion be thy name.

On Earth, as it is in hell.

To dwell is to dance to his spell.