Life is like the ocean,
Vulnerability is your sail,
Hope is the wind that perpeals you,
To the land that’s known so well.
Trees are made of stone and glass,
Stretching high up in the air,
Concrete paths replace the grass,
Their people have no fear.
They walk with all their might,
To a place they do not know,
Peddling their wired wheels,
To a destination untold.
To prosper is their glory,
Their shrines are built so tall,
To stand beneath the mortar,
One can feel a bit small.
Pay no mind to them in a rush,
Their always on the move,
Don’t try to slow them down though,
They can be a little bit Rude.
I believe they truly mean well,
In the efforts that they make,
But only the old man in the desert,
Or the famous fortune teller,
Can make that claim.
So if you have a week or two,
And you want to see the sites,
You should raise your sail with glory,
So hope can blow you in tonight.
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