My Flesh Winced, In Cowardice, From Such

If There's Anything I Look Down On, It's A Man In A Blue Outfit.

I Ride Earth's Burning Carousel. Day In, Day Out.

God, How I Ricochet Between Certainties And Doubts.

I Dream Too Much, Work Too Little.

I Am Accused. I Dream Of Massacres. I Am A Garden Of Black And Red Agonies. I Drink Them, Hating Myself, Hating And Fearing. And Now The World Conceives Its End And Runs Toward It, Arms Held Out In Love.