Crossing over a period of painful love-play,
Let's reject the traditional garden of conventions.

Let's change the sex of Eve.
Let's make Adam pregnant.
Let's speculate beyond animal anxieties.
Hell's quagmire.
The Moon acts like a pimp
In the history of human bonds.
The bull of sexual passion masticates
On a disembodied heath.
We sail in a sinking ship
And turn into savages.
Even just plain cloves burn our tongue;
And we are afraid of light.
This is how liberation itself punishes a human being.

A human being shouldn't become so spotless.
One should leave a few stains on one's shirt.
One should carry on oneself a little bit of sin.