we searched for the ideal far and long,
Finally, after long ceaseless searching,
in the abode of our very own blind young;
there it was inviting us to mammon in a new sweet sly tongue,
we found solace in it and on it we clang.
Even when the mother died and the father went away drinking,
we found solace in the underground sun,
and we hang on to that imitation here beneath the earth,
because when you find modernity in imitation,
why bother to climb above ground?