paradoxes, sages

I'm nicely asking you to not fuck with my head

Fantasy running every inch of this land

Can't see any end, many look grey

But always gotta move I can't hang in my bed

Toxic means to an end

Better yet, nuke every contact I had

Spent a lotta years tryna sift through the past

Finding everything worth keeping and I'm throwing out the rest

And that's a ratio of one to a billion and then some

Most explanations were only "cause I said so"

Paper makes ideas sing like falsetto

And every day I got to see in practice and effect: No