Like a fire that you hold inside
I heard when for a little peace you cried
The anger, the tension, the sorrow within
You always lose when you want to win
You only win when it matters not
And that's why the fire burns so hot
Like an intensity no one else can know
A white-hot high when everything's low
It's the death of your soul and the death of you
It's the death of everything you do
The consequence of this failure found
Under the rain it seems you have drowned
But despite the rain the fire burns still
Consuming the remains of your free will
If the rain can't douse it, then you're the last hope
Or you'd have a failure in a different scope.

--Sparks