Mysteries of the Muse

I'd say I knew you better than the fall
And sometimes we say sorry, but
When do we really mean it at all?

When your heated heart of rock explodes,
In your erupting mode, Kilauea,
You're eroding me.

When you're joy's in exhaustion
When your ploys can't be deployed
When you're seven miles from Heaven
And you can't gain exposure

Am I sound? Are you sound? Are you around?

As we're tumbling down these lava walls of yours.