Up through the cracks in the old chimney stacks and into the sands of the Gobi, they know me,
the Antarctic just blows me away, the Arctic holds fast to the blue rings of fire and the smoke that curls forward becomes the words that were tokens to be spoke in the classroom, we have been taught to be saviours but we swallowed the Moon.

In Sanskrit and Hebrew we knew all was done for but we went through the motions as if life was a see-saw and we were the fulcrum,
and the pirouette became the fame that we looked for on the road to the West.
And we got there to the World Fair where the conglomerates sold us a new deal for Christmas, a machine written wish list that ticked all their boxes but the boxes were caskets and we, the dead men, the basket cases, blanked out faces and no thanks to anything, to the king nor the Queen who were seen in the palaces and the princes sticking their tongues out and ******* on the poverty.

They knew me but ******* me and that's all I could hope for but one day I'll take a hammer and smash up that see-saw and see what they know about then.

The finder, the keeper the rich man, the sleeper, the ***** and the Princess I bless them all and the corporations that take us to break on the treadmill or blacken in the Sun, your day will come.