Mysterious the dark  the ignored, heart

On the surface of our self we dwell
Mysterious the dark  the ignored, heart
Till we have an accident, are ill

We’re like a little snail without its shell
Trodden on by others we depart
Oh surface  living paves the way to Hell

We climb our way up the consumer’s hill
Filling up our trolley  as we walk
Till we have an accident, are ill

Imagination  helps us more than  Will
Oh, to be in Dorset, sea and lark
On the surface of  this place we dwell

When at last we die, where is the bill
Where the confrontation wise and stark?
When down  comes a  new virus, we are ill

Oh, pain, oh fear.,  surrender  now the will
Intuition tells us  to be still
On the surface of our self we dwell
We  think that we are living very well