I’m in sobriety and the world, in dipsomania.
You say I’m more dangerous unknown,
Unlike drunkards laid bare when well-oiled.
Should hours narrow all blame on me
In their raid to bring a good man down?
So much false in this world
That too much truth is seen as disobeying.
We’re betrayed by those who are
Supposed to be protecting us,
My love has become my worst enemy
And, while our love still exists,
It’s she and the world against
Me for being evil-opposed.
I’m an extremist bred by their world.
In my lonely days, loneliness favours me for truth.
Communication breaks my silence to penal periods,
And the world has a chance to know whether
I have or haven’t fallen into their opinions.
Most times, they find I haven’t
And persist in their reckoning.
Not in a million years will I be
Convinced to vote for evil,
Even when I’m left alone for truth.
Penal periods, gun-fired by lies and manipulation
When flipped over, reveal plain truth.
In crowds, I always differ: either a genius or stupid?
To test, I speak about good and speak alone.
To test, I act recklessly and obtain great support.
But still I’m not assured where I stand.
