To learn the language of sun
To remove the heart from the body
To learn euphoria not from stimuli
but from dawn´s merciless epiphanies
To watch the child as a seedling
Grow into a role and a labyrinth of emotions
To know your body as a sleeping bag surface shell
but not be able to grip that which you are, in spirit factor
If comfort was a concrete box
Surely I would furnish one for you
You, the one who seeks straight answers in a crooked world
One who burns the boardgame of life with the friction of too many rules
Yet still unable to turn your face away from the nonsensical chaos
To learn the percussion of the rain
virile and fluid, a wash, a flood, a watery stain
To welcome the storm, abundance and destruction´s unruly child
who wrecks the land if unadopted
Yet it´s not a lesson you´d sit down to
The essence of this life too hidden, too concealed under your bias
your conditioning, your wardrobe is common error
your clothes a chinese whisper that was never ripped nor stained
and retained even the same tone
The tone of an echo in a concrete box
Finely crafted out of the fear of loss
and surplus debris overused gossip
mixed into desperate brands that cement impulsive anxiety
And marketed as the noble western cowboy
wandering into the sunset
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