evidence of a superior culture

It was you, the grass under my bare feet,

The campfire in the dead of night,

The heavenly black of sky and sea.  

It was us,

Roaming the rainy roads, combing the guilded beaches.

Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn,

Bathing in places no-one's seen before,

Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island,

Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe.  

  Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature,

In early air of the dawn of life,

A sight to silence the heavens.

  I want to travel where life travels,

Following it's permanent lead.

Where the air tastes like snow music,

Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden,

I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture,