I feel my fly getting heavy
And I see my left wing is getting weak
The thought police are mailing out words
That don't seem to speak

With tongue and cheek,
The western dawn of the beating sun
Makes me think of the next beginning
Anew, but this dawn I'll hide or run

Cancer resembles my invalid comrades
The answer is the word of the thought police
And so, another day I am told what to say
But I will still be put down for my legislative blankness;
A blanket of warmth; the success of my true human self

And that is why I have beaten all of you

I am impure and illogical, with both of my wings suspended
They will never be mended, and so I will be remembered
As a ***** speck in the cosmic disaster