| You, who speak of crowd control | 
| Of karma or the punishment of God: | 
| Do you fear the cages they are building | 
| In Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas | 
| While they’re giving ten to forty years to find a cure? | 
| Do you pray each evening out of horror | 
| Or of fear to the savage God | 
| Whose bloody hand | 
| Commands you now to die, alone? | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Do you taste the presence of the living dead | 
| While the skeleton beneath your open window | 
| Waits with arms outstretched? | 
| Do you spend each night in waiting | 
| For the Devil’s little angels' cries | 
| To burn you in your sleep? | 
| Do you wait for miracles in small hotels | 
| With seconal and compazine | 
| Or for a ticket to the house of death in Amsterdam? | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Do you wait in prison for the dreadful day | 
| The office of the butcher comes to carry you away? | 
| Do you wait for saviors or the paradise to come in laundry rooms, in toilets, | 
| or in cadillacs? | 
| Are you crucified beneath the life machines | 
| With a shank inside your neck | 
| And a head which blossoms like a basketball? | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Do you tremble at the timid steps | 
| Of crying, smiling faces who, in mourning | 
| Now have come to pay their last respects? | 
| In Kentucky Harry buys a round of beer | 
| To celebrate the death of Billy Smith, the queer | 
| Whose mother still must hide her face in fear | 
| You who mix the words of torture, suicide and death | 
| With scotch and soda at the bar | 
| We’re all real decent people, aren’t we | 
| But there’s no time left for talk: | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair | 
| Let’s not chat about Despair. | 
| Please | 
| Don’t chat about Despair |