Of you and I and it
We have made a pile of shit
And plowed it back
Into the fields and clouds
The moon-laced clods of rain
For which we danced and prayed
The old gods flourishing green
Until we learned to be afraid
Of having gods and seeing them
As if they wanted to control us
Lock us up in conceptual cages
We saw ourselves as free
And therefore we ran away
It wasn’t them who chased us out
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