Cracked, weathered, pig-skinned tools
softest, supple, virgin-hands of suede.
Desert: my mountains,
sky scrapers: your zenith.
Let innocence climb high,
let your suede caress treasures.
Endless, metallic guides of steel,
cradle my priceless work of life,
assure any failure: only a fault of my own,
a greatest mistake: of me, a clone.
In time, you, too, will come to this place:
softest, supple, virgin-hands of suede
intricate, exotic, hard-willed ivory.
From my rest, I look on
and see our heart of gold will come.