Locked in spin cycles, round-a-bout conversions
Tired little creatures are lost in the melee
The wild dance of deception
The clever claps of clandestine clergymen
Why not? They will ask
And no-one will tell them why.
Possible hope is attractive
Definite facts are repulsive
So dance on wild deceiver
Clap hard clever clergymen
For tired little creatures must go to bed
May as well believe in dreams when they’re dead
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