Tree trunks rising
show horizons
(Not where sky meets ground)
That cannot be found

places where silence
breeds sound
that cannot be peace
where shall we lead?

let me know
if somethings going down
i'll catch up
when i'm done

don't lead me home
lead me where my foxes live
they're so bright they'll know
the follow tree trunks
they've never sunk
o! hunters
run!

What do you mean they are also prophets?

Far below, on the beach, were his friends
Half-naked bums
Partying in the sun
There were atheists
There were *** maniacs
The fat old Bumbo was a crazy bartender

I thought I was the only One. The Chosen One
I never knew they came in packs
All of them?
Even Bumbo is a prophet?
You mean to say you make me climb this eyrie-high
To tell I'm just one of them?
I'd rather not be a prophet

Dog Mumbo
lives alone
since his master disappeared
in the corner house
in Suburb Bumbo

Mumbo stands with
his head at the window
paws on the sills
and when Stranger Whoever's
heart is touched
"O that poor thing,
so so sweet"
and comes in to pat the dog
Dog Mumbo invites
Stranger Whoever
to the master's seat
and closes the door;
and when Dog Mumbo turns round
to Stranger Whoever
it's no longer that poor thing,
so so sweet thing
For it goes straight for the heart

And so it lives alone
and feeds itself
same way its Master fed it

And I believe, you discerning reader,
have a name
so remember it well
and do not fancy yourself ever to be
Stranger Whoever