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I'm sorry I am flawed, the plague-spot of the masses.

And all your gifts - what for? When they are entirely unworthy.

Your inscrutable thoughts, can we make use of them? We can't.

Whither goest thou? What to do with you?

We're swamped, how could you work?

Displaced, miss-adjusted, oh why?

What happened to you?

Right before your birth - completely out of line.

And how can you survive?

Without self-castigation, without self-treason.

Force yourself, quixotic saviour of yourself.

Constraint - the urge for unknown nullities.

They sleep away to themselves. Open up your eyes!

Not to weaken from sleeping.

All that you wished you are - still unmeant.

Tell me from your needs and say...

How real is the world outside?

Stereotype of your dreams.

I'm sorry I'm a blemish in the ideal worlds arrangement, watch out for me!

A maculation of Neo-Liberalism.

Society-values - stereotype of your conviction.

They're just a copy of an ethics, not worth a straw.

Erased, these ideals you had once. What have you become?

Evened out, your identity has merged in the mass, you are lost.

Take a look, all these humans sad and pale.

Tell me what you see! It's not the world you're craving for.

First they hand over thinking - the dream is dead - then liberty and self-rule.

This easy life is at its best - for you.