βut for what is worth you?
You wouldn’t even know.
All but the sun comes from the east
and yet you don’t really know why?
Your worthiness is but with mud
And yet you go out and call it clay
your futile attempt to mould
It’ll break and surely wither away.
The light that blinds you
You so very much avoid
You’ll even go and bury yourself
And live with the moles underground.
Of shame you see non to feel
And shame you feel is but
Dust in the wind
Forever lost, and holds no weight.
You’ll wrap yourself in warm strokes of guilt
But you’ll also wear a smile in veil
A perfume so pungent that repels.
Your armour, by its side you will abide.
And you will speak out loud with a shout
To silence your friends and their mouths
You will live and refuse to die
But with rags, and not riches that occupy。