Why after the dust settles, someone has to come by and blow at it, stirring it up into the air again?

People are complaining of having rags and not riches, but I find it a blessing just to have rags, to wipe away the dirt and dust that may come in the course of life.

We are all dust passing through the air, the difference is, some are flying high in the sky, while others are flying low. But eventually, we all settle on the same ground.

Some people will still find a way to create a fire with wet logs.

They will not force us
They will stop degrading us
They will not control us
We will be victorious

Margo, they're afraid of us. They're afraid of everything.' And then I kept on talking without really thinking, until it turned into a chant:


They're afraid of change, and we must change.
They're afraid of the young, and we are the young.
They're afraid of music, and music is our life.
They're afraid of books, and knowledge, and ideas.
They're most afraid of our magic.