We file one by one in line, waiting to go home, waiting to be exploited and to exploit. And when our turn arrives, we praise God and deem ourselves washed. Clean from Hell, or from filth. It�s funny, for that�s what we�ve washed ourselves in. Blood, semen, vaginal fluids, alchohol, drugs, and greed. I find it hard to stand for too long. Can�t I just explode into the world? Won�t you just let me be? I already know you know me and what I�m best at. Sweet surrender is what I�d present and still you�d take me and manipulate me until I�m sick. You live in a world of garbage and you call yourselves clean, to lure me, I feel. I almost know just a few more willing patrons will finalize the test. Such anger and hostility build, though, as I observe the results. When I finish, I do fear the living in captivity of you. Things are meant, I feel, to be used, so my tests will conclude with the losing of my heart, my will to be, and still wealth and luxury will come. I'll lend my life to you and give you my will. See where we end up. Watch us crash into the canyon floor, exploding like a bomb into pieces, unrecognizable. I�ll still be a man, a piece of time, a spirit, a soul, a nothing to anyone. So sad but true, sex and lust is what gets us there to Zion. I am not the black animal. I am not that young and can�t remain excited day in and day out. Sorry, I�m just not that easily amused. But still you remain gay and alive while I plummet into my early grave. I do, though, want to rest and do not fear this death.