Sick

Offertory basket, you have been offered the usual. You will take these winnings into the sacresty. I, on the other hand, have no time for my tune about the barber college. If I withhold time for this tune, no one is moved. If the time is redistributed, no one is moved.

And when it's all a big bit of laughter, at a moment that I wish it not to be so, then I can't take it any more. You, in turn, will no longer be able to handle what might be dropped inside you, for it will all be over. Your ability to perceive the tragedy truly evaporates and justice becomes the disparate streams of the perpetually unreasonable.