Stayin' alive

That's the way it goes. Our lust for stories

is as physical as well-fed Belgian horses.

That's what I mean. Our longing for trust

is as substantial as a Bohemian nobleman.

That's what happens. Our fabrications are

as solid as puppets made of paper mache.

That's how I see it. Reality is dark, bleak.

We have to decorate the true, so to speak.