Means Without End: A Paroxysm of Praxis

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything. Nietzsche

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Ritual Lies

Scar tissue torn back to ribbons
Gnawed by memory, I sit alone
Skin talk, speaking in tongues

My shelter,
My gilded cage
My pit of despair
It becomes ritualized,
becomes ritual lies
It takes all you have to break away
To end the compromise,
And to realize
You are going to carry your secrets
To the grave
Through the gauntlet of
revilers and despisers
For the rest of your life
Opium of cheap affection-
bought and paid for by infection

Never tear us apart
Never break us apart
Never let them come between us
Never throw it away
Tear us apart
Break us apart
Never let them come between us
Throw it all


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