Coming down to the wire. This is it.

I know we’re in the fire,
But we could be purified, like gold.
Or we could be ash, dirt you won’t want to hold.

This is it,
The fork in the road.
The end of the rope.
The rubber meets the road.
The climax of one of two stories forever told.

I know this hurts,
But we could be pure like gold.
Or will you let us be ash,
Once burning bright,
But now just dirt and cold.

This is it,
And it’s all in your hands.

I fell apart at seams for you.
I spilled my guts all over this floor for you.
Are you going to fall apart next to me, make this mess with me?
And together we will build ourselves new and beautiful.
Or will you leave me here, like the leper?

This is it,
It’s out of my hands.

I don’t want to sing the songs that are buried under soil and dirt about you too,
But if you go, I’ll have no choice.

Who will you be?