All of the things that you thought were universal
Do not belong to us all. It is internal
So then, if there isn't a truth that everyone holds
Belief is beginning to bruise. You walk where there isn't a floor
You see how it's flawed?
You make this dubious faith
That keeps us floored. The nausea is a friend. It leads to relief
You won't expect it to end
In your queezy beliefs