The city is here:
And electricity.
Lights that can make you blind
Clubs that can make you happy
And drunk
It’s here
The city protects you.
From us.
But in the symphony of all the cars and engines, of wheels and wires
Of plants and factories, of talking and laughter, of rain, of ships arriving from
Faraway lands.
Of city’s chaotic music
You always hear a quiet, almost soundless rhythm.
It never stops,
It never ends.

You murmur it when you don’t notice
Drumming this song your weirdly subtle fingers
On the glass,
On the wood,
On the tables’ surface.
It brings you to us.
Again and again.
You try to hide,
You try to be deaf.
You try to be high.
You try.
But our song is always with you.
It follows.
It brings you back
To the hills,
To the hollows.
And dolmens,
And shadowy shimmering lights,
To the four-leaf meadows of heather.
And clover.
Stop hiding.
Don’t you see?
It’s over.
The hills are all yours.
Just take.
They are waiting.
Just come and embrace,
Dance with us with all your grace.
Dance with us.
Dance and forget
All the cities you’ve seen
And you haven’t seen yet.

We are your people,
Not them,
Not them.
Not the cities’ women and men.
Return to us,
Return to the hills.
Maybe not now,
But one day
You will.