In here, all that is useless is burned up. Each day I am confronted
with my own hypocrisy, my own deceptions. Each day ruined by
my own ignorance, my own prejudices. I cower, I make excuses.
I forget my complicity.

You would not have seen it.
You would have to
have read my mind.

Why must there be the other?
Why do I simply wait?
Forty years in the underground have made me a hodge-podge.

It is unbearable, but it is fair.
If you love fairness, it is fair.
If you love desire, it is fair.

I must know this pain.