All these self-inflicted rules
are ripping off your existence,
making you a box, chained up,
in some rusting cage.

Anna, I know people aren't all that pretty.
I won't forget when we sketched mankind.
He was too fat to move, too drunk to talk,
and too proud to back down.

But do you really think you need the rules,
to keep yourself superfucking cool?
I've ****** on your fingers,
I've listened to your secrets,
I promised I wouldn't fall in love with you,
but of late, I decided that was a dumb rule.

Anna, we were made for straight lines.
The circles will only sink us into the ground.
Progression, constant evolution,
patterns and conditioning are for the typicals.
I want halycon evenings,
just talking peaceably under the blanket,
and if we recieve an invitation,
no matter where it's to,
there we'll go.

A collective soul isn't impossible.
It is only reserved for the least
frightened amongst us.

Unchain yourself,
Anna.