Take up your imaginary arms and fight,
Heed the call of the wild inside the breath you can't quite catch
of the future you thought you'd never dare to dream of.
Strangle the automated answers that stick in your throat,
lash your tongue against the very idea of truth
and bare your teeth to the facts stripped of the flesh that formed them.
Cut off your own head to prove how much you care
Sharpen your senses, till you feel more than you think,
and know that six is the smallest number of impossible things you must believe in.
Putting Anti-matter into a jar for later,
The context is containment,
because they don't own your soul
(just maybe you don't either).
For want of wanting something to fight for,
it's a life that worth living
even if it is a lie.