The Process — Good Riddance

Braced against the grip of choices Memories of the gentle ways Stained by a thousand voices Yearning for a shaft of light

Catergorized And labeled an affliction Delivered naked into this world Dehumanized And cast down From the savage grip of the process

This is not some kind of holy vision Holding back a great dogmatic tide Rinsed clean of servile derision Gaining passage to the other side