Only Through Destroying Myself Can I Discover

I Used To Work In A Funeral Home To Feel Good About Myself, Just The Fact That I Was Breathing.

Think Of A Rock Polisher, One Of Those Drums, Goes Round And Round, Rolls Twenty-four/seven, Full Of Water And Rocks And Gravel. Grinding It All Up. Round And Round. Polishing Those Ugly Rocks Into Gemstones. That’s The Earth. Why It Goes Around. We’re The Rocks. And What Happens To Us—the Drama And Pain And Joy And War And Sickness And Victory And Abuse—why, That’s Just The Water And Sand To Erode Us. Grind Us Down. To Polish Us Up, Nice And Bright.

This Is Our World Now, And Those Ancient People Are Dead.

We're All Going Overnight Express Delivery Straight To Hell.

We're So Structured And Micromanaged, This Isn't A World Anymore, It's A Damn Cruise Ship.