The Illness Named Imagination Songtext
von Lychgate

The purpose of existence
Seems to have been reduced
To the most distant vanishing point
On an endless horizon

At the mercy of your closest enemy: imagination.
Question marks writhe like worms
Striking the soul deeper
Turning its edges into splinters


I am the real one - I am not him – I am not We
OneState will vanish

I am the real one - I am not him – I am not We
I think, therefore I am

(The human in the menagerie diminishes like its former animals
What then becomes of man through extraction and reduction?
Mankind, the worst beast, has no place in the Phalanstère
Live with your century but do not be its creature)


This is the fever
In the pons Varolii
Exposed to three doses
And you are cured