The speaker of "Dissident" is uneasy with the world around them and not sure how to leave it. The city is "fast" and "made of lead," a place that is hurried but also heavy, as if speed and weight have been fused into something oppressive. Yet the speaker insists it "is not the only answer," which sounds like a quiet refusal rather than a loud protest.
The second stanza turns strange. Truth is "dangerous" because it has "so many windows," suggesting it can be seen from every angle and never pinned down, and perhaps that it leaves anyone exposed. The final lines are the most striking: escaping would make the speaker "a thief," and the sleep that follows would be broken. Freedom, then, comes with guilt and restlessness. The mood is tense and subdued, with a dissident's conscience caught between wanting out and feeling that leaving has a price.