The sun has no worry
with its fury to rise
As the weak cry to the Old
"your killing us alive
but go on we encourage
the future is by your side"
Petty fools like the pharaohs
who sleep in dirt and time
Yet the sun with a rage
when the moon wants to dance
But the owl is its eyes
the coyote his right hand
And these animals if they wish
which stand on back leg
have the tools and the talent
To black the sun when its jealous
and the moon when its gray