this is only a rumour i heard
so i don't know how much truth it has
but it seems to have something to do with
a theory of your contemplation
the theory holds a key to
all the world's justice, says somebody's right
you are me, and i am you
but it could just be differences anyway
let's talk about conversation
did you know that there are barriers
we all limit ourselves to answering
by which you can communicate
except we are things, and tank of red blood
we don't notice them
we backed away to the same direction
don't you know, neither down nor up
there's just one thing i'd like to say's
i'm not in the best condition
you know my headache, but it's like
a neat haze, just out of date
with melancholia the syndrome
waiting there on the each sides
the humorous dead that hold us all
in like a mother's womb
we are cursed too much
we are stung too much