Every exit you've made's been discrete, at least you keep it consistent
Fading in and out on repeat
What's left is kept between black out nights
And whited out words in this receptacle kept above
I know there are waves going in but only drops come out and I can't help myself
Tell me who can reach inside
And pull their self out for examination without it falling apart
And consequently freaking out while trying to get their shit together
But they know that they've been f*cked from the start
I miss isolation and a psychologist named steve who was able to figure me out
He says we're becoming aware of our collective unconscious
That it won't remain unconscious for long
The only dividers said to be between another
And I are illusory... but I guess they exist
As long as we hold onto our identity we're just out of reach of serenity
Let it go, return to nothing. It's not sad you're just looking at it that way
It's beautiful to die