In villages adorned with silence
would you become the cause of your own exile?
imagine a knock on the door, a damsel in distress
or a dragon of mighty proportions; and charge at life
as if to tame it, hurling yourself at it
against all advice of the village elders
Wisdom is cheap unless paid for
in tokens of misery; and then it's cheap again
because you can't sell it
Those that become their worst enemies
must constantly be wiser than the ones waiting
for the worldly sufferings
It's either that or cheap wisdom of the gods
that rampages through the ruins of the lives
and the living that think they have suffered
There was something to the idea of viewing
and witnessing everything as a war
a war for victory, a dignified loss, or even survival
There was something to the idea
of going to sleep wearing armor
The idea of keeping your enemies close
struck so deep that Mr none-the-wiser pledged
to himself his own ruin.
No one else would ever get so close, after all.
Then it was just a matter of deciding
whether to fight himself in search of wisdom
or to exile himself on account of his stupidity
