Here is a song that I composed a while ago.


How many tears must we pay for each truth?
H-ow-ow-ow many times?
How much pain till we’ve been put to the proof?
H-ow-ow-ow many lies?

Walk to the center of the park,
On a day, when the rain is denser
Than any of the structure of feeling,

Prop yourself up against nothing, finding
that you do not fall down below the dirt,
standing into its supporting embrace,

He who was administrator of your
language identity machine, is on strike,
the worship of repetition has ceased

a lightning bolt commands your attention,
but you, bathing the cold rain with laughter,
you hold the secret to depose Olympus:

“heedless emotional egolatry,
authorless histrionics of human sensation,
more dependent on scripts than senses,

worship your programmed spontaneity,
divinize all of your basest vices, but
who has ceased to worship self needs no Gods

Would you kill to create identity?
or use violence to sustain it? would you
kill the world if it upset your sameness?

Would you prefer the willed and artful sleep?
waking sleep, fear and refuge, cover
your hardwired dream of spontaneity.

O! to be free of it, then to just be
To suspend your suspension of disbelief
not to be, be just to, just to, to…"

How many tears must buy each lies truth?
H-ow-ow-ow many times?
How much until we’ve been put to the proof
H-ow-ow-ow many lies?