it's a squalid little mess,
the instrumentality,
the way things are
the things you have to do,
this artifice, this fire
breathing idol that devours
its worshippers, and belches out smoke
and you pay, you pay
for everything, you pay
for everything twice,
again and again
there is not a single minute,
not one inch of space,
that you don't pay for
in a million different ways,
so that you don't even realize
it when you see it all the time
i don't know what to do.
am i making any sense?
the instrumentality
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Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
- constantine
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