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