On the clear water,
Its surface bound to timeless hearts,
That beat, with rhythm, bum, bum,
Bum and all the ripples fade like fingerprints,
Lost in the distance.
Freedom for those who disturb it, not,
Yet in its memory, they rise to pay tribute.
Their hearts grow, with blood bursting in the tree,
Of life and joy and numbers.
Water has indeed a secret,
Its power, it's the steem that rises through the cracks,
In solid rock, the ancient book said to our face,
That nothing moves, that all is stuck.
Yet steem fills all, effortlessly, naturally, irreversibly.
With hearts filled with steem,
And stones filled with cracks,
The world turns, again, in the light,
To show once more, that we are not dead,
That we are not frozen, crooked and small.
It's all about the pressure,
It's all about the steem.
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