He who sees without eyes,
he who’s earth and yet flies,
he who lives and yet dies,
who is he?
He who speaks without thought,
he whose theft is uncaught,
he who’s desperately sought,
who is he?
When the dreamtime comes to pass
we will be but one at last
my leg is a rotting log and i am stumps
i am stumps which are crawling with the little maggots
the little white slimy maggots which are crawling under my skin
there are swans all around me
but they are blind
or i am invisible
and i don't know which
i once found myself at a crossroads
i searched within myself
and like they love to say
i took the road less traveled
now i am at the end of the road
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