Untitled

I love you, stranger
Strange thing
Strange as the night
Strange as death

I love you whose soul
I see as my very own

I am what I am and
All is what it is and
Everything shall be and
There's no other assumption
We could make

And yet if you claim to own
The truth, you have weaved
A horrendous fantasy that
Excites the fanatics and they
Can't see for themselves
Their terrible ignorance

I cry
I cry, I cry