There is a thin line between love and hate 
and both extremes are solid in their aptitude
So I sip spirits during these long and lonely hours 
as time seems to sit still 
As if some punishment
The kind of punishment some Liberalists of love would protest against 
On the grounds of inhumane treatment 
I accept that my death will be slow 
and well thought out by the powers that be 
And my gallows won't be constructed from fresh pine timber 
Oh no, I shall not be that lucky in death 
A quick and merciful snap of the neck 
My death shall be slow 
The strands of insecurities sown into my soul 
Shall transform themselves into beams of steal 
And this mental metal will construct my prison which will keep me buried 
Sectors beneath ME for all eternity until my ethereal heart rots 
and evaporates back into the collective 
Sectors beneath ME...FA...A long long way to run 
And like that river I've been running ever 
SENSE 
And
SENSIBILITY...One I ignore the other I use 
but neither ever at the same time 
Because then I would have to face the truth 
I would logically have no one to blame 
I would open my eye and see my mistakes 
And rectify them
Even if the ones I've hurt can no longer see forgiveness 
I would know in me that I recognize 
And no longer live the perfect little lie 
That nothing is my fault 
And in a way NOTHING is 
It's the something that was 
And for that I am sorry
For knowledge is nothing without feeling 
For then it would merely be science 
And I gain no fortitude or sense of self without emotion 
Although, hypotheses can be constructed 
And experiments controlled 
I fear no answer to WHY would ever make since 
Unless of course the answer is IT MUST BE 
Without ANY further conclusion 
So I rely on my axiom
There is a thin line 
And lines divide
Without those constraints 
Nothing seems real but pain and punishment.