16 May 2012
You beat your drums, till both our hand are blue, Smash our thumbs until we're through, Screech as loud, as high as you can, Stand proud, but still only a con man.
Because you will fade, brighten in colour, Then stand back amazed, and wonder, How I built the strength to defeat you, Tears spilt, and they weren't few.
A sensation so pure, constant and hard, A mistake of yours, without any regard, You forced me; to become immune, I became free, only too soon.
Headache • Opuss № I