Look around the country, an abundance you'll find. Of mediocre minds. Sift through the fodder as sane justice declines. Because of mediocre minds. Shrouded under cover the most flamboyant guise.
What you do is what you are. And wishing upon distant stars. Won't improve the hole you're in. Won't absolve your deepest sin. But action is no gift from some covert and lofty god.
sometimes i ask myself why even bother. it goes in one ear, right out the other. out on a limb, out on the edge, no matter what they say. the pleasure of pain, day after day, dat after day.