We can never oppose to majority for they always win They will **** you in Make you wear their uniforms Slit your throats and feed you with thorns Fluxing in like piercing pins and you just have to swallow them all Then they'll cut your ears and rip your tongues Sew your lips and make you sleep with their hums
There is, in our bleakest hour of despair A singular feeling of wild ecstasy, An unexpected joy that clears the air To which the pained sinews can but agree.
There is, in our most joyous moments This terrible doubt of the spotless mind That nurtures the fear of future torments And mocks mirth as being naive and blind.
There is, in our greatest acts of passion The lingering ghosts of expectations Who haunt us with the shadows of reason And shackles our ankles with patience.
