Matron of the festival,
child of the hazy dream land,
herald of the time strayed deities.
With a raspy roar you call us out from our withered inflection,
into the maddening fire hive
rampantly dancing like indigineous arcane inventions.
Water bearer to the fractured hillside warriors,
queen of the concrete paradise,
ferry us to the elusive body of the moment
and rid us of our abnormal myopic reality.
Wandering child,
Beautiful child,
your epic expedition is at its timely genesis.
I pray the world is prepared
for your vivid prismatic anima
and the staunch anthem of revolution.