That's how it goes when you're not like the rest:
They lay down the rules that suit them the best,
But some of us play from a different book.
I don't think I'm above it, I'm no crook;
An addict perhaps, if I have transgressed.

Those of our kind, our static's possessed
By demons of sickness set to divest
Us of joie de vivre by their seething hooks.
                            That's how it goes.

How can one live at the system's behest?
None can be civil with spirits oppressed
By an inner void which hurts just to look
At, let alone have the courage to brook.
I have nothing to add nor to contest,
                              That's how it goes.