On the eve of transcendence
There will be wars and rumours wars
Intransigence will suffocate the meek
The smoke emanating from pipes wounding the leaves
The dogs peeing against the bark of the tree bark no more
The moon will turn red
The string pulled too tight
like the spring of a gun
The players must play under a blistering sun
The living won’t mourn the living
The dead will mourn the dead
Egos will curse on egos
Despots trying to overthrow despots
Our tiny friends lives will come to a halt
covered by the cerement of existence
The Earth will scratch her head
The devil roar its tail
Love will almost coil
and almost fail
But please don’t weep my friend
There won’t be a desolate end
The words of Siddhartha will roam the land
I take this by heart
we won’t live a 1000 years apart
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