It’s cold again, it looks like rain. A procession of humanity, strikingly simian, Saunters by, I can’t explain Why it’s troubling to see them so.
Better than who we are with mania And yearning for and learning from, Better than holiness and candy aisles Of loneliness and sweet revenge.
A cigarette, a memory, All connections to the permanent are burning. The pedestal gets in the way And cannot withstand our honest scrutiny.
Better than who we are with mania Or standing for or dead against, Better than holiness and candy aisles Of loneliness and sweet revenge.
Do you feel the chill of December In the rioting of Spring? And are we made of something better than clay? A leap, a fight, a secret rite, The lonely quest for meaning and the universe is dreaming.
Better than who we are with mania And yearning for and learning from, Better than holiness and candy aisles Of loneliness and sweet revenge. Oh, sweet revenge…