The time of screaming at walls,
The tearing out hair, the not being there
All that is done and all that remains is
The slow deathly march
Of time going gone
So let’s steal the food from the flaming hot pan
Burn all our fingers
Burn off our tongue
No need for restraint at my age
Approval, it buys me nothing I want
The first two lines came out of nowhere and pulled the rest through.