| Don’t look down
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| The ground will consume you
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| Don’t look down at what you’ve wrought
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| The void draws out your fears
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| Falling down
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| Your selfishness consumes you
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| Falling down into your past
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| Desire flickers out
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| All that the totality gives out for free is ideology
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| So does Truth just fall from the sky? |
| Does it even fall?
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| Does it stay among the stars and constellations?
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| Does it stop when we’re all dead? |
| Is it only in our head?
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| I must believe the Truth needs us as much as we need it
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| Truth collapses in when we tear ourselves from it
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| The sky is falling, with it, my disbelief
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| I can’t re-suspend it
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| I can’t find my way back into the joyful eye
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| Let me back in without turning me to stone
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| Without subverting Subject and Object
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| Without burying the living under the dead
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| And yet, reified relationships are all we have to exist in
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| Partial objects are all the privileged see in this world
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| The Lord and Bondsman’s struggle reproduced indefinitely
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| In a spurious infinity
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| When isolated, the Devil of self-interest takes root
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| Knowing only the nothing you are is knowing nothing
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| A subject without its predicate is never ending
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| The Devil’s despair is the greatest of all
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| But the Devil’s despair requires his privilege
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| The Devil’s despair is a sickness unto death
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| But the Devil’s despair is borne from self-interest
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| Being-in-and-for-oneself is empty without the other
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| So let me be-for you
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| Before I fall back too far to realize
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| That hell awaits the isolated
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| Sublime is the loving flame that lifts
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| And thaws, and embraces
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| Instant and eternity, now and forever
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| And if death has, carved in its beckoning hands
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| Inscriptions of the Ultimate End or the Absolute Truth
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| And in Eros' hands we find the lifelong pursuit of these:
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| The movement between them is uneasy
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| The movement between them will never end
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| For pure light is as blinding as pure darkness
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| Yet we curiously live on
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| For pure light is as blinding as pure darkness
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| For the living are still ruled by the lifeless
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| And yet we curiously live on
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| Waiting for the second coming of the moment of realization |