Man is a drowning fish, he cries
Because he lacks the strength to fight
The waves of noise and his own lies
While he knows that in truth’s stark light

His weakened lungs would fail to fill
Lacking now all natural strength
Having sacrificed his poor will
To demons whom he knows, at length

Were promising him naught but dust
Yet nonetheless he made the deal
And trembles now, for so he must,
Smitten by wounds he cannot heal

Flying not to his secret soul
For that sanctuary has been
Defiled, it is no longer whole
The enemy has been let in

And one fears to wade past that stream
Of mere half-conscious surface thought
Pretending rather life’s a dream
Instead of the nightmare we ought

To face, for in the mind’s deep heart
Conscience promises solitude
Inescapable, and to start
Is to be finished. Attitude

Cannot avail us here, pretence
Is futile; only a real flight
Into the desert, sans defence,
Resolve to stand and die, to fight.