I'm camping through a storm
I am located in a northern field
Cut off from obligation
And the spectacle called man
By the grace of some invisible power
I manage my tragedies
Like an ancient sage
I put out my cup
To catch the rain
Then enjoy a flask of total purity
I complete the evening
Watch the shadows appear
Count the numerous bugs on the ceiling
And eat my tidy snap
My modest morsal
I plan to return to the land of market
And the seated beggar
He extends a hand
And when I pass without a murmur
He grumbles from his throat
He tells me ignorance is bliss
I feel...