Is the company you keep,
And the intimate knowledge that they have,
Of the place you sleep,
And your daily movements with money,
And the things you do everyday,
How can they possibly know who you are,
Or believe you when you say,
That each day's different and cannot be,
Judged against an ideal life,
Marked by no change even in a structure?
You can't dissect a soul with a knife.
But, it's alright,
Because you know who you are,
And the pain you go through when the expectations fall short,
Of Big Brother.
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