rough my lungsburns;The polyps infectedWith heavy-lidded sorrow and the sleepOf no resolution.The argument is a beastA nameless one, one with too many names,One we love too much to let go of.It goes round and round and roundAnd this top will not stop spinning the evils;We forgetthat there are such things as heroes.(even with all the comic books we read)after the usual family feud.