FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

You will be caught in that desire for
Fame.
Such a useless endeavor.
Such a base instinct.
What use can it give you?
Does it buy you rice and egg for
Breakfast?
When they write your name in the sand
You know that the waves come on time
To erase all the letters
When they put that in all the pages of a book
The fire soon shall burn it
Look! I am telling you
You tell it and when it is done
Come, come
There is still so much to be done
It has nothing to do with fame or money
Above all this
You have to save a soul
Your soul lost in the labyrinths of your caprices
And whim
And so the chance have become so slim
I am telling you
You need to trim
Trim, trim, and leave off that surplus skin
Retreat into silence
You gonna need some more of this
Thinking.