We chase misprinted lies.
We face the path of time..
And yet I fight... yet I fight,
This battle all alone.
No one to cry to,
no place to call home.

My gift of self is raped...
My privacy is raked.
And yet I find... yet I find,
Repeating in my head..
If I can't be my own,
I'd feel better dead.

- Layne Staley (1967-2002)