The lively crowd loves us too much indeed
The lovely performer looks us in the eye leer in his meritorious sigh
We could handle our anticipated warning, hurling art across spectral glances of supernatural volunteers
These people would rather sleep than be ghosts in the party
Simply singing, confetti communist architecture, we are all glad Karl
Like kids, we belong to this doltish crowd full of hope and greed
Our dreams protect us in these urchin-laden streetlamps, many of them holding the paper eating their senses
I am me, you are youthful tides
You are in the spring of your pubescence
Judge Gideon sings to us our verdict, laying faith in the party