Blindblindblind

May the light of our striving still shine.

Ahoy! Ye bland plump boys, go tear wings for vainful gain.

Our homemade choirs like forest fires, hiss 'neath golden rainand slip the leash and the chain, and slip the leash and the chain, 'cause some hearts are true, but some hearts aren't hardly true, but some hearts are true.

A silver Mt. Zion