Walking without armor amongst men with swords for tongues

I find that this conception of what our lives really mean to be malleable.

So let the new debasers trample the works of Des Cartes

and Thoreau in a desperate attempt to justify their own uselessness.

Et tu, Brute?

Who once stood by my side and smiled?

Maybe as I spit my last breath there will be clarity

and the "Straight Path" will be revealed.

Et tu, Brute?