No One Gets Out Of Here Alive.

Guileless And Without Vanity, We Were Still In Love With Ourselves Then. We Felt Comfortable In Our Skins, Enjoyed The News That Our Senses Released To Us, Admired Our Dirt, Cultivated Our Scars, And Could Not Comprehend This Unworthiness. Jealousy We Understood And Thought Natural--a Desire To Have What Somebody Else Had; But Envy Was A Strange, New Feeling For Us.

Death Makes Angels Of Us All And Gives Us Wings Where We Had Shoulders Smooth As Ravens Claws.

The Most Important Kind Of Freedom Is To Be What You Really Are. You Trade In Your Reality For A Role. You Give Up Your Ability To Feel, And In Exchange, Put On A Mask.

I Am Interested In Anything About Revolt, Disorder, Chaos, Especially Activity That Seems To Have No Meaning.

Man, I'm Sick Of Doubt.