You know not that of which you speak;
I'm not subject to your critique;
And with a future plainly bleak,
I'll turn, so strike my other cheek.

I'll look through you with battered eyes;
I hold those thoughts which you despise;
I see right through your vicious lies;
So learn that which, to me, applies.

You can't see what's within my mind,
Fed up with cruel dreams seeming kind,
The endless trains of thought that bind,
My actions, keeping me confined.

Though, don't you worry, lovely dear-
My body yet, will still be here,
But with neurosis creeping near,
I'll wipe the pointless bitter tears.

But is this mania, happy man?
Or do I simply understand?
Or do I simply know...
and simply comprehend that which You ban?