Looking down on empty streets, all she can see Are the dreams all made solid Are the dreams all made real. - Peter Gabriel

This old familiar craving.
I've been here before, this way of behaving.
Don't know who the hell I'm saving anymore.
Let it pass, let it go, let it leave.
From the deepest place I grieve.
This time I believe
And I let go...

Dressing up in costumes, playing silly games Hiding out in tree-tops shouting out rude names — whistling tunes we hide in the dunes by the seaside — whistling tunes we piss on the goons in the jungle. It’s a knockout.

All my instincts, they return.
And the grand façade, so soon will burn.
Without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside.