You see, that's the way the world isnNot a lot you can do about itnExcept to acceptnnThere was a time that I thought about itnPlenty of times I thought about itnThen decided not tonnHere in the holenI'm surrounded by foolsnDegenerates and phoneysnI suffer a constant bombardment of nonsense from all sidesnnWhen central control render me surplus to requirementsnMy imprint is relocated to the ruins of ParisnWhere I regeneratennMy new face accepting me immediately without the usual problemsnI operate a program of self denialnYet languish in polymorphic perversity as is my wantnnEach day, even although I believe I'm freenSomething pulls me back into a past made real only by their understandingnAnd all the while the calls keep coming innnAnd still I am hunted for my fleshnI'm hounded for my beautynIn a world turned on it's headnI steady myselfnReady to enternnThey believe I know everything because my masters memory serves me whilenInfact I know nothingnAnd so they will find menAnd in the middle of a cold afternoon they will ask nWhat is it, exactly, you knownAnd thennThey will take me outsidenAnd they will kill mennThat much I do known