Man, leaves are falling, I'm not an architect, but there is architecture,

I feel myself letting go, just allowing myself, to be me, who I am, normally,

I'm not in charge, none of us, are in charge,

It could be blasphemous to think of, but I'm wondering, is it the time of the season?

Will my father also let go?

What will happen to architecture?

Will heaven’s butthole open up?

Will a piece of pie fall for everyone to eat?

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Will hell open up, the demons crawling out of the abyss, to feast,

He sees everything coming, from so far away, its always set up, to be a checkmate,

Layer, after layer, of security,

The ISO model, a firewall and antivirus, like an onion,

Whatever, I guess I was just being selfish, just a little worried, that after I got here,

He would have abandoned me,

Is that ever possible?

Can we only fail ourselves?

Our father, his arms open,

Is he ready to welcome us at anytime?

I don’t know, but somewhere around here,

Is a purifying fire, a mountain to climb,

Test after test, hierarchy being decided,

At every step, a filtration, a separation, of trash,

Where food is decided, offered, and eaten,

The harvest, fields of gold, and my scythe,

Somewhere around here, my love echoes out,

I cry, a river of tears, I hope, I yearn,

Ready to shed a river of blood, oh lord, oh god,

Baby, I hope you make it,

It’s the hunger games, volunteer for tribute,

Everything is measured, with your father watching above,

Will you jump?