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I stand tall on the windy mountain side.
Look down on mankind’s world
And snort in depreciated disgust.

Let death embrace me in its jugged jaws.
I'm not afraid, just tired.  
This flagella of torrid life,
The gross garbage of man’s past,
The insignificance of the insecure future.

Time has no meaning.
A hallucinogenic rhythm 
Of the quintessence of nothing.
Bring on the rumbling war drums,
Raise up the sharp guillotine's blade,
Let the cacophony begin,
Let me dance to no rhythm
Of preconceived dreams.

For since the beginning of time
When humans invented drawings
Of men killing men, and sang
Songs resonating of rape and lust,
Of slander, conquests and plunder.

The day will come when we must
Give an account of our misdeeds.  
We turn our backs on good and evil,
We just don’t really care what happens
To unfortunate beings, our neighbors.
The writing is on the wall.
The seer chants: the end is near.

Yet something in me stirs.
I refuse to let go. For look
Not far away on this cold mountain
Is a rainbow, way up high,
As bluebirds happily fly on the other side
Of the shimmering bewitching hues, 
A consequence of a prism of raindrops.
One day, all our dreams become reality. 
Hope reigns again and all dreams come true.

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