What does it take to believe? What does it take to turn men into beasts? Been thinking about my tombstone while life just fizzles and stumbles and slithers on by. I've got a mind for the truth. Bent out of shapeless thoughts and these screens strapped right to my eyes. Everyone's half asleep half the time anyway. What does it take to believe? What does it take to turn men into beasts? Been thinking about my tombstone, my life. Anyway you slice it, I come out butchered. Lying in the grass. Getting bit by mosquitoes. Or sitting in the sun sweating through my shirt. Always finding ways not to find what I'm looking for. And maybe I won't. Functional fiction or optional faith. Either way I feel fine. But I don't think we should have this conversation without showing a little restraint.
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