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
The rain thundered down around him and clouds hung low overhead in the blackness of night. His skin was sodden. His hair was a matted mess. And yet he stood still in the darkness all around him.
The machines clattered along as he sat. Their quiet hum filled his ears as they had every day for the past 20 or so years.
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