| Consumed The passion inside us consumes us Until all we see is that which controls us Nothing else will console us, for all that we are is what we need. Without it we are empty, Nothing but a shell, All that we say All that we tell Relates back to the passion we cannot quench The last thing we think about before we sleep The first thing on our mind when we awake Never far from our thoughts Only momentarily displaced by something more prominent It is an obsession an unsatiable hunger for that which we desire. |