a wasted life is spent indoors away from the forest floor mesmerized by straight lines and artificial symmetry souls stripped down and soaked in bleach spotless feet pacing over pale plastic tiles separation from source cut off from the stillness inside dharma replaced by distraction until we no longer know value when we see it lives spent chasing after emptiness buried in bullshit brutality as a birthright white knuckling our way to the top of inverted pyramids what is success? being a CEO? building ourselves up with the broken body of mother nature? I'd rather be nothing at all I'd rather let myself be blown away by the wind to disappear into the tall grass if only to remember the cool caress of the soft, dark soil back where I belong
Protect the Innocent 