I dig the ground for the coins not hidden there
I search the open heavens for the symbol not visible
I groan amidst green buds cracking in the wind
as the sun beats the earth of a thousand souls
I yearn to chant old songs
recorded in my heart that’s desolate and bare
but I have lost my voice
in the bank, which shines but brings no warmth
I prowl, twinkling like shining orbs and incandescent gravestones
shivering like a despoiled flower in gold-warmed lands
without any glory at sundown
but a sombre song writ in blood
Death has cut hearts across like brown ants
I cannot help speaking of grief sounding forth
according to the beating of the drum of money
in a land rumbling with natural resources but not making a great nation
