It may sound very nice
In the epics of Judeo-Christianity.
But after touring
The deepest mountains,
The most dry valleys,
The marshes, the tundra,
After measure the earth and its width.
After testing all the flora,
To count each specimen
Of winged birds,
Once crying seven seas.
After rummaging, crawling, pretending,
At the end of the moaning time,
When my vibes have been exhausted
When my rainbows have blackened,
When my cloud be dissipated,
When my tree be uprooted,
Where does my lonely heart go?
This of giving yourself without measure
It may sound very nice
In the epics of Judeo-Christianity.
