If I can respect you like I love ideas
I can conceptualize my defeat
And call it a concept that converses with inner passion
And pain is just a bough of cheap existence expensive as the taste of hashish
Perhaps we could certainly make do with merit and the Ides
Come to doorstep, march on my life and knock on door
Call me up fool from a brass phone booth, matrices
Trapped in the smoked police building we were unwary of the transient redness
Of her eyes brimming with such satisfaction, the many of the few features
All of my love in multitudes, my thoughts become a bit more than I can chew
Many for the few loveless ones