The wind that blows between the crack
will wisp away the basic black
leaving shadows, coloured brown
grey and ochre. Sand is blown
to scrape the surface of the plain
releasing grass to grow again
shaking off the cracking shell
Growing, stretching, gone be Hell
No more the agonies of fate
The hidden side shall be the mate
of surface world. Reality
will dance and turn, and fantasy
will lighten up, no nightmare dreams
to wake the children into screams
Good be better, bad be, too
Lifting life from where it’s glued
The work you do, the tears you cry
have loosened everything to fly
Gone be rapist, torturer;
this the vision that We offer
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