I have two battling souls inside,
Two ever fighting minds,
And every time these two collide
One wins and one abides.
One soul can do what many can’t,
It has a gift of gold.
It knows for certain: it was meant
For greatness to unfold.
My second soul is like a sloth:
Pathetic, dirty, dull.
It’s lazy, but it loves to loath
Its neighbour in my skull.
And every day and every night
My souls want it all,
While clashing in a nasty fight
For ultimate control.
The gifted one has brought to life
Some very worthy things,
Yet weakened by a fierce strife
Has never spread its wings.
And probably it never will
Zoom up into the skies
The sloth is ready for a kill
It’s slow, but rather wise.
I am the one who wins the fight
The winner takes it all.
And in a swamp or in a flight
At last I will be whole.