Justice? You Get Justice In The Next

Tragedy Was Foresworn, In Ritual Denial Of The Ripe Knowledge That We Are Drawing Away From One Another, That We Share Only One Thing, Share The Fear Of Belonging To Another, Or To Others, Or To God; Love Or Money, Tender Equated In Advertising And The World, Where Only Money Is Currency, And Under Dead Trees And Brittle Ornaments Prehensile Hands Exchange Forgeries Of What The Heart Dare Not Surrender.

If It Is Not Beautiful For Someone, It Does Not Exist.

That Was Youth With Its Reckless Exuberance When All Things Were Possible Pursued By Age Where We Are Now, Looking Back At What We Destroyed, What We Tore Away From That Self Who Could Do More, And Its Work That's Become My Enemy Because That's What I Can Tell You About, That Youth Who Could Do Anything.

We Want Someone To Bring Us The News.

It Is The Bliss Of Childhood That We Are Being Warped Most When We Know It The Least.