Your words, however strong, fall as broken glass to my bare feet
The more you talk, my mandala grows, as the sun strokes the ground with its heat
They all say do what thou wilt, but I’m the wilting flower
Put in my place by their conventions and rhymes of the hour
Inferior would they be in a superman’s eyes
But there are no 21st century heroes, lest they wear a disguise
Their white noise has an acrid taste, disharmonious and brittle
But I’m the leaf who constantly falls, hovering just a little
Who then is winning and who is defeated?
Power by numbers gets all outsiders deleted
Your words, however strong, fall as broken glass to my bare feet
The more you talk, my mandala grows, as the sun strokes the ground with its heat