One of the surfers of the earth wisdom
I declare, I belong
We write about the rite
We create, they cry
These feelings I get
Disorderliness in man
This allergy I have got
Lairs, mongers, foes and game people
How do I move?
How do I dance?
How do I write?
And for why do I?
Ring-a-ring-a-rosie
This theatre is full of roses.
* * * * *
Yet I can’t dance
trapped all over
Our patron, a couple of mongers
our friends, a bunch of foes
And I swear not to be a prey
Why is man in here?
Running after fiction
I just need a stage to be seen
Maybe I’m wrong like every other,
But without pretence, I CAN’T
Once again I’m out of my mind
And this time I promise its over
ring-a-ring-a-rosie
this theatre if fool of proses
We all fall down afterwards.
