Skies in motion,
Clouds come and go, push and give,
My eyes have no notion
of the battle between nature and its thieves.

In a motionless yet unstill state
I wait for the drops to fall, to break the glasses,
The shock of forces released, a faith,
A certain belief, The Mob, the awakening of the Masses.

Passed by with no perception
Of the spectacle of the flesh and matter,
There´s a Chosen One, "The Election"
It is straight to the Emerging One
to break the sketch and the pattern,
In the Mass, HE is all they want.


First Version 10/05/1991
Last Version 05/31/2005