I'm looking at you in the mirror of
The closed eye, in the kingdom
Of resistance, while you are
Writing in an exploding building.

At a table of skins from past
Years, obsessed by a very special
IDEA.

You're off the wall, sweat is flowing
From your forehead in torrents,
Steadily you're stomping in the
Debris of the streets — your skin
Became a mix of callus and blood.

The debris litters the streets with
The skelletons of failed relationships —
You hate control freaks.

Why you despise yourself?
Does it have to be this way?
Is love or the enemy governing?
Who's pulling the strings?

Shut the **** up!
Reconciliation my ***!
Little *****!
Ain't no enemy in my head...