You all understand just what it means to be; You all believe exactly what you see; You throw yourself into the mercy of the masses, and like a rotten apple, you get expunged, purged, from the masses as though you were never there.

And like the tangent you are to them, the circle; At only one point in time did you ever make contact to them. At only one point in time did you ever mean anything, anything but nothing. But no longer are you their tangent, for now you are a multi-secant: you connect pain to ignorance, and stupidity to power, you connect intelligence to dust and meaningless to construction; you connect help to some, and contempt to content;

To be content with oneself is to be discontent with the world, is it so? Is it so? To hate oneself is the only modern wealth, to feel the ecstasy, one must first truly see, just what one isn't, and one must allow all to dissect them…

Just where is your saviour now? And hark, here he comes, but he doesn't look at all like Jesus; aboard his pale horse, he rides, wielding death southpaw and destruction right, here he rides, come hell or high tides, he shall get all that opposes him.

And hark, here comes your lord, here he comes upon his bloated ego; here comes your damnation, your salvation, your destruction, your satisfaction, your emancipation, and from he, your dissuasion…

If only you would ever listen!