In Indra's net we are all strung together like beads,
And we all have spiritual, intellectual,
And emotional needs,
But no one ever bothers to consider the natural rate
Of decay and entropy,
That mixes with the ground to feed the centipedes.
I am not a puppet, I really do bleed,
And I am dying as I'm watching you feed.
In this poisoned garden I am planting my seeds,
Which shall rise high above all the killing weeds.
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