Our mistake was in seeking resolution
Our mistake was in the acknowledgement of any argument
In the confusion and chaos of his thoughts, he is terrified by silence
And by silence can he be brought to obey

In his speech there is the illusion of some grand quest
The lie that because he is himself, therefore he is no self
The blindness of night, the deafness of the adder
The tastelessness of stale and filthy water
The udders of the Cat of slime; not one thing, but many things

Of course this is merely thinly-veiled vanity
We are not confronted with the righteous esoteric
Nor a dispute of true and faithful relation

This is not the death of ego but ego incarnate
Ego in it's blandest, most obnoxious form
The banal thug, the maladjusted man-child
The semi-educated neanderthal

Not one thing, but many things
Woe, woe, woe, threefold to him that is led away by talk
It is time now to be silent
Your most humble and obedient servant