Selling faeces

Tropical swamp with five star hotels around it, luxury hotels with negro porters in bright white suits outside a foyer before the deluge.
A thick steaming plantation, a curious tribe´s boy emerges. Some kind of pearl of wisdom, my minds awake, some kind of guide.
Damp rock forest floor, where they decorate shit.
Soft grassy palmy balmy roadside, extreme mist steal me, steal me from the ground.
Guru´s and conmen circulate in my dreams.
Five star hotel carparks empty.
Guided to the treasure. The moss and lichen laugh like the jokes on me.
Along the huts and stalls there are people selling faeces. Treasure they would fight for...
Treasure for which they´d die. The result of a little bowel movement they expect you´ll buy.
Tropical swamps with such charm moist foliage stealing my fears, and mists you´d like to disappear into.
All they had to sell was shit though!