As the days go by we can only find

That what is true is only an illusion.

Deep inside the confines of the mind,

There is only the internal intrusion.

Noting outside prepares within,

For what you take with you.

No other way to begin,

And avenues so few.

Absent are sinew and flesh

All must be purged with your might

They will not mesh

Until your internals are once again

Bone white