We are dirty
No matter how many times we wash
We can never be clean
What are we to do with the fact that we are human
Our inevitable fingernails
We exist and we are free to make mistakes
Though our efforts may fail
We will continue
Delusion is such a sweet poison
We want to be misled
Because once inside the gate
Along the paths
We are inspired
It is magic
We are raw passive anarchy
Our passion means more than any neat system
The things that once seemed firm
Are sliding and not stopping
Our seductive trash
Do not despair
We are on holiday