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Napalm Death
Fear Emptiness Despair
Twist The Knife (Slowly)
Gut level, below it all.
Out of duty - just here.

Feeling like a knife's being twisted in the hole of how it is.

False hope, an inch of pride that died when I left to hide from non =

stop battering of conditioned opinion.

Rest assured but not assured, all is well, but I think we've dealt =

with the fear for far too long.

Unborn suffer the norm.
Born to this - I thin not!
I stand against till the shit drops.

We see all but do nothing, in the hole of =B3How it is=B2.
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