Answer the call of my destiny,
And uncover meanings sublime,
So many things I could rustle up,
If only I wasn’t short on time.
A searing thirst for destination,
Lights the desert traveller’s path,
But I leap from mirage to mirage,
In confabulation’s aftermath.
Tap-tap-tap goes the old wood-pecker,
And the minutes are chipped away,
I barely get my act together,
When sun decides to call it a day.
Not knowing what to do with hunger,
The poor man rubs it in his eye,
I take the ash of day’s deprival,
And make light of the darkening sky.
Near is the hour to meet the Maker,
And all of you have much to show,
But a lifer in inertia’s cage,
Even death I must sadly forgo.