pokes fun at knowledge, do not drag me

towards the wishing well.

such lofty dreams, what wonders await

said knowledge to the ostrich

stuck so deep within sands it barely perceives

the current time, and what for?

indeed, what for when the tides pay no attention

to the swimmers strong, when the talk has become

stamped like the 10 commandments

though the god is a different one, not on mount sinai.

this mountain is piled on bones, on top of more bones

for those whose voices have been muted,

strength has always been the waves that breaks and sinks,

those powerful arms alas mean nothing

as nature bends what is in her way to become dots, splashes

and nothing more but bones, buried on top of bones,

while the one who caught the wave

exclaims of virtue the ignorant they try their best

to understand this knowledge slowly seeping into

foggy minds – bones on top of bones

a mountain of gold that needs no advocates,

no crusade, no violence, no compulsion, no persuasion,

it needs only hearts that see what gold can buy.