Who knows better than I,

Of hiding;

A duck among swans;

My head held high,

With false pride;

Who knows better than you,

Of fading;

Wallpaper covered with new paint;

Your mournful martyr sigh,

As you let yourself become nigh;

Who knows better than we,

Of longing just to be,

But making no move,

To change,

To chase,

To challenge

Our current balance;

Pray not for us,

The unwavering moles;

Think of all the heroes,

Who's fall has yet been foretold.