They wanted to see
What'd come of my dreams when I died
But then it washed over me
An omen of philanthropy
A reward for re-breath
Either way I had to go
Be banished down to a hole or be sold for spare change
A supermassive synapse
Fracking my psyche but managing to stay intact
In healing and wreathing
Contortionistic therapy to deal with betrayal
Either way I had to go
Become a martyr or the unknown