It is out of great hate
Where it is so easy to find equal love;
For it is not my hate which I speak of.
Of the many desperate,
What makes us separate
Apart from perspective?
What keeps us from happiness?
That there is a difference,
You are measuring out the parts
And forgetting the sum.
That you choose to live in memory
And think not of the future,
Your race is already run.
Tell me, did you win?
And, if so,
What have you won?