The mind's conceit has conquered all the real beauty,
grinning from a mask of hollowed bone
where a human is somewhere to be found,
but from where I don't know.
And things couldn't be better.
From behind the walls where we cannot pass,
hear the muffled traces of a boyish laugh.
Hear the monster screaming, "What have I become?"
before his looking glass.
And things couldn't be better.
-And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead.
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