Some days a thick black fog is all I see,
blinded from light and warmth, deafened to friends,
lost in a nightmare fall that never ends,
too tired to vomit what pours into me.
Without evil or good I should be free
but cannot move while hopeless to ascend
nor even see where my inertia tends
too tired to tolerate a mystery.
     "Hey asshole! think you're better than your race?
     Let me tell you the big secret: you ain't.
     What'll you do when Fate farts in your face?
     keep step in the great dance, or whine and faint?
     Maybe we need a strong hand on your case þ
     Think you got grief? Go read about the saints!