Walking without armor amongst men with swords for tongues
I find that this conception of what our lives really mean to be malleable.
So let the new debasers trample the works of Des Cartes
and Thoreau in a desperate attempt to justify their own uselessness.
Et tu, Brute?
Who once stood by my side and smiled?
Maybe as I spit my last breath there will be clarity
and the "Straight Path" will be revealed.
Et tu, Brute?