Fire on the Moon

I feel like I've been the finest fool Hanging on by my fingertips The ground gives way beneath my feet A black cloud descends I lose my grip Buried in the mud Lying here with no relief The world I've known is paper thin Torn in shreds my finest hour A drowning man still battling One breath rattle gathering Dust is dust, clean me now All my strings are gutted Turn it down In the paralytic nursery of bygone fears My old adversary reappears Still confronted by the many faces of Eve No matter how I try to heal this injury Still the trophies line up on the wall Pride that comes before a fall