That I may be concerned with the world around me, I fade into a mist. But I know nothing of it, for it plays with the ways of my soul. My sorrows etch the wind, and cut into the pieces that I am. I can finally see, as I bring myself down. I see everything I am, for what I am not. I see everything I could do, but will never. And a whirlwind finds me in the depths of my enlightenment. It throws me to the rocks and fights.
Must I be conventional, must I claw after society's ideal?

To be loved, Oh but to love.

Must they be separated souls?
No, a cauldron as they synthesise to a boil.