All these things that we support most
really got nothin' to do with us.
We do this shit outta
boredom, or fear, or money, or
fucked inteligence.
Our circle and candle of light
is small.
So small we can't bear it.
We heave out with Idea and
loose the Center. All wax without the fuckin' wick
Then...suddenly, we see names that once meant,
wisdom,
like signs into ghost towns,
and only the graves are real.
