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I will not follow you to the depths of hell, for I have been there before, and I barely made it out alive.
I will not follow you to the belly of the whale.
Dear one, the desert is not my home, for I am done with wandering.
I have become my own home.
I will not follow you.
I will not unburden you or be the medicine you so desire.
I will not follow or be caught in the web of lies of the storms that you have battled alone.
Beautiful one, I will not call you home, for a light beacons in the night, and that light is my own.
Wounded one, I feel you, yet I will not follow.
The day is done now, this story is past, and onward we travel a solitary task.
Go now without want or worry,
away from my window oh, beautiful, wounded man.