sooner or later you'll find out your thoughts are a sin:
drugged and lugged through the halls you're living in until you've accepted their embracing concepts and their defacing analysis of your character; you're dead. their pale, fluorescent lights hum in your head and clean out the cobwebs that you've let build up until you've been completely cleansed of your transgressions and until you've figured out life's not about progression.
sooner or later you'll find out you're life's been overanalyzed:
created for the sake of boredom and then criticized by yourself, your peers, and the people who you never knew; they'd never known, not even yourself, but you guessed. there was no reason to make an estimate, you're blessed through your admission of self, sanctity, and painful denial of the truths they'd tried to make you disbelieve; now you're ready, you're certain, and soon, you'll be freed.