So many call here on their way down below & I'll be here burning till the end of time. Thoughts of the falling burn from the ceiling to wall & I'll be here waiting till the end of time. And nothing here is safe & nothing here is sacred & the thing you care for most will crawl away wounded as you tell it you love it, into the dark recesses & hollowed out corners of nothing. And the last touch is always the hardest & the last touch is always the same & the last look is the one that will kill ya & the last touch is the one that will drive you insane. 
And as the night fell & the gutters swelled with the roar of the [bad word] city & the falling balling & crawling below he sat shaking uncontrollably by the window looking over the pestilent street. And he sat & he prayed & he prayed & he sat & he prayed to St. Augustus, St Brigid, Padre Pio, patron saint of all sinners, patron saint of all fools, 
patron saint of every [bad word] dying crawling thing beneath him, shouting out the names of the dead & forgotten. 
And he cried out for Christ's sake help me! For Christ's sake get me out of here! God of all sick things get me the [bad word] out of here! Release me!