The world of our dreams

And where the paradigms end
And truth begins
Where when they bend
Its to smell the ground
And a foot is stamped
But not to break a mound
And the wheels of culture
Tread the distances of hearts
And strings of tolerance
Are woven to song
Where when a nail pricks
Its only by mistake
And when a hand touches
It never induces rage
Where words never remain just those
And yet are those to live by
Where when the winds of change blow
Doors are kept open to know
And when the first bird of the morning
Croons freedom over the mountains
The clouds conspire within
To take it to the plains to show
And when the first raindrop set free
Hits the ground and sets ablaze
The wet smell of the sweet clay
Beckoning the back that it bends
Embracing the foot that stamped in trance
Where this world begins my love
I would want us to sit
On top of a dry little hillock

Under the umbrella of a drizzle
A little away from town
Looking into the distance
Watching the moonshine spread

Across the deep dark ocean