And so my soul collapsed into a big guilt wad
Some big thunder law forces me to eat shit
And if I was a word, could my letters number a hundred?
More likely coarse and guttural, one syllable Anglo-Saxon

I'm a victim of fact, let's say I loved a girl
But the world was wrong and I was forced to march in line
But it felt like handcuffs, machines disregard my pronouns
I am defeated, I am a cool damp clay