All I know is that which surrounds me, But I lack the means to comprehend it, and the language to describe it It is the stuff dreams are made of, and then kept at a safe distance The choices I am given, don't seem like choices at all If I'm told often enough, I'll end up believing I'm wrong And I can't say anything about it, except that it works No priorities (of my own), such is my privilege, trust me it hurts All I know is that which defines me, my belongings and my body The rest is invalid, but I don't want to be so easily defined, To be so easily kept in line There's no point of denying what we have become, At the end of the tunnel there's just another one And the feeling of being reduced, can't be reduced by anything All I know is that which is me, and it's becoming less