This damn thing is an absurd joke.
Oh not again. Not again.
I’ve seen myself a thousand times and I have not changed a bit.
One day it will all end.
The ideals of a frightened boy: all smashed.
One day it will all end and the ideals will not save me.
We were made broken.
Now, as then, and tomorrow again.
Listen. I bore myself. And you too, I hope.
It has all been said.
What am I clinging to but broken space?
There is no substance here but hollow ideals.
And yet hear my cry: ‘Give me a war! Give me a goddamned war, and something to die for! Give me an ideal!’
I am an unbalanced pretender. And I always knew it. A goddamned unbalanced pretender, shooting a shot now and then, taking aim and shooting a shot now and then, to tip the scale in my favour.
Tip the scale, tip the scale. I lean too far I must tip the scale.
A pretender. Pretentious. A pretentious pretender pretending to be pretentious: pretentious squared: meta-pretense.
I am not even able to fail with grace. Not brave to fall off the measure. Scrabbling and clamoring to tip the scale. I’m sliding and falling off and I am not courageous. I do not dare…I do not dare!
Have you ever seen the beautiful truth, and had failed to act?
And don’t say at least I was aware enough to see; that most are too calloused to be aware.
Don’t tell me I should feel lucky to live; that most are never born.
Pretenders squander awareness; cowards squander life.
Oh, that I could BELIEVE! In something, in anything. To be calloused enough to not see, but to believe!
Oh, that I could fail to see, and truly believe!
But I have seen. And have done nothing.
Do you understand my words? Don’t make me spell it out.
The pretentious switch costumes until nothing of substance is left.
I need a war! – (to fall off I do not dare)
If you don’t get it….then get out!
You have been spared, and my envy of you knows no limits.
It knows no limits.
I need a war! – (to slide right off I do not dare)
This balance has tipped and I’ve shot my shot and my envy knows no limits.
One day this will all end. This ideal will not save me. Now, as then, and tomorrow again.
I dare not fall so I shall pretend. To wage war that I may believe, and callous my soul to regain relief.
I’ve shot my shot.
Oh that I were as calloused and deserving of life as you.