
THE CHIP-MAN
Dry beds of grit and stone are dried up for a long time
The stop of streams aroused from sorrow and distress
Inner dryness gnaws at men and environs
Haste is not enough
And leads to nowhere
Please STOP
They treasure is sinking deeper and deeper
Concealed by the smog of vanity
The greediness for all the fake
They dreams produced by greed
Idling around for nothing
Count well: TICK TICK TACK BOEM
Who sees?
Who hears?
Who feels?
Talking! Yes
But nothing is done
Nobody moves
TICK TACK BOEM!
Guts bounded to kicks is leading nowhere
The courage to look in your own eyes
To feel your own heart
NO! Why?
TICK TACK BOEM!
Please stop with always sinking deeper and deeper
In the illusions of all these nothing
© Brajanne 2001
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