When no one has the answers, we're all equally blind.
Stupid mice, running in circles, climbing over the bodies of our fallen forebears.
Give the thoughts names, and the questions a hunger
Unleash the quest that has no end.
If we define prostitution as selling your body for an agreed upon length and time, then I am a whore.
We're all whores, we're all dead.
Sick of the subtle suggestions that we reap what we sow.
The not-so-subtle suggestions that if you don't have enough, it's your fault.
If everything hasn't gone your way, it's because you haven't tried hard enough.
So I hope that someday, the weak shame the strong.
Crush the skies, and lift the oceans, and scream this filthy song
Wretched feet, cracked and bloody, from walking years too long
Will rest in comfort, in peace, where the miles are long gone.
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