We demonise the thinkers;

we tell them they’re insane.

The visionaries we criminalise;

their words labelled inane.

We think we understand it all

‘cos science tells us so

but we understand so little

like the music of the flow.

We create things to kill millions

while the world around us dies.

We sit up in our mansions

while the price of freedom flies.

Who are, but some little specks

of fly shit on a wall,

and we will still be nothing

till we hear sweet Gaia’s call.

Our knowledge leads to nothing

if we cannot hear the song;

our mansions all mean nothing

Lest we find where we belong.