Building the pyramids.


Once again you walk unto the desert,
with huge cut stones moving mountains;
to see again the sparkling fountains,
young lovers hold hands and flirt.

We throw you onions and pepsi-cola,
as you stroll in the sun,
coming together and learning to run,
the band plays Lola.

In this ancient democracy,
we are worried about cycling through trees,
for they have sold the breeze,
we are no more free,
than a turnip to eternity.

The gold has piled up again,
writing poor poetry that no one reads,
love is watering a seed in the desert;
dreaming of apples, pomegranates
and lemon meringue pie,
it was always do or die,
singing gently, "no more wonder why".

~