I can only clean up your dirt,
If you give it to me.
Is it pride that stands in your way?
Think, then, of the filth in which you wallow.
Being prostrate in repentance,
Is in reality a rising,
A lifting of your head,
A step up, my man!
Really now, how proud can a man be,
Who is chained to his sin,
A slave in bondage to habit,
Following the crowd?
Mire and muck,
What trappings are these,
But for a prince of fools?
Fall on your knees to stand up!
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