Maybe our roots will shoot up into church lawns.
Maybe we will remember when we bled love.
Maybe you'll see my soul pour out of every orifice of my face.
We must blend into the choir
Sing as static with the whole.
We must memorize nine numbers and Deny we have a soul.
And in this endless race for property and Privilege to be won.
We must run, we must run, we must run.