What are you doing,mum
I’m picking the nettle
It’s nutritious, you know
Whom you’re gonna fead with it
I’m gonna feed you
and your indifference
Is there no other food, sweet mam
True, there is
Behind bluish mountains
In the seven miles booths
There’s the wise one leaping
He who recognises everything
What’s that all, dear mama
It is me, eternal me