Even the sigh of not knowing would have us go on,
the weary quietude that falls to hypnotize the great symphonic wheel.
They would have us press through the wild,
not understanding or knowing the cause.
Just support their dreams and let ourselves fall.
We are tired of running and looking behind,
led like puppets to circle, similar to a repeating song.
If you want us dead, you're doing it right.
Leading us on through soil and lies,
against the dust of earth that says
we should be laying frightened in our beds.
Don't tell me there is nothing wrong,
just tell me you want us gone.
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