Hang the sword above my cot by the single hair of a horses tale,

That even in my sleep I must beware the shadow of its blade,

Lest I forget price to pay should my endeavours fail,

As it strains at its slim tether, all that keeps its fall delayed,

And let its weight fill my mind as the second hand slices time,

Let its ever present threat weigh heavy on my soul,

Certain in the knowledge that one day its binds will snap,

And only by a hairs breadth did I live a life at all,

For it's only in acceptance of this Dionysian curse,

That by a single horses hair hangs ever over me,

That I may find the courage to contend with the adverse,

Knowing that one day its falling blade will set me free,

And in that stark acceptance I will move beyond regret,

That I was born beneath this blade suspended by a hair,

And focus on my life so hard that soon I will forget,

The sword of Damocles is even hanging there.