I’ll go to those better than myself,
The holier and more noble,
As the unclean, straight into heaven
I won’t crawl on all fours — they’ll carry me in carriages.

I avoid, it turns out, the worse ones,
Having left the unfortunate
In dire situations
To fend for themselves,
I, the lost one,
Despise the lost…

They shine with a torch at night,
Carry the good news to sinners,
Save those who are in trouble,
Bring scoundrels to their senses.
Am I not a scoundrel?
From me the noble become dirty,
And I won’t touch the dirty for anything?
So maybe I can help you with something at least?