There was before and after
Before, there were only a few really going for it
But now almost everyone is
Especially the singers and musicians
There is no next time anymore
Waiting around is like writing letters on your tombstone
To break the spells, the heavy quicksand, the black clouds, the mud and dirt
That could **** a man, that has and will **** many more
We are a stampede
A stampede of need
Pushing ourselves ever more beyond our tiredness
Into energy and the unexpected
To not go out quietly in our sleep
And to be left with the weight of not having tried, with that headache from time immemorial
To be free to be free to be free, she sang
These are truthful days