They want me to run and they don’t want me to sleep — breathing heavy every day, being led like sheep. I must dream inside my dreams, because the seams of my realities are fading with uncertainty, because of what I cannot see. So bring me back to a time before I lacked — not in want or in desire; it’s in these that I require the will to will myself to want to want to have emotion in the blunted, fronted notions that will lie, in essence, to themselves. There is never any conscience in the words that we speak, and yet we wonder why the world burns and looks so bleak. Maybe if we tried to try — by purposing within our minds to mind ourselves before we think and break the will of all the others we refer to as our brothers — things would be realities, and not just pointless words that whistle in the breeze. So I’ll be the brother of your prophecy and see what you want to see; I’ll know what you don’t want to know and teach you what you wouldn’t show. And if I’m generous, I’ll let you in on this sensual state of bliss, where I live life through a scene in an exotic machine. I’m from a new style and a hard touch of the wild, and I ride on excellence, unaccepting penitence — and nothing else would make sense but me slashing out your hopeless sense.