Letras
For seven days he prayed
Trying to save
What God was trying to kill
Sometimes your history determines the fierceness
With which you fight against what is in front of you
Can you know anything but illusion
If once illusion were destroyed you wouldn't dare look back
You'd be turned into a pillar of salt
And I think that very nicely, uh, captures the problem of being alive
Knowing that we are searching after a
Reality that we can't actually be hold
It's probably not possible to be alive and to know reality
Because suddenly everything, all of our history becomes irrelevant
Suddenly, everything is about this basic set of human problems
We'll find, I think, that we have some friendly
Ghosts that are trying to help us along
There's not a person in this room who is so
Perfect that you are not lusting for change