I feed from the bottom you feed from the top
I live upon morsels you happen to drop
and coffee that somehow leaks out of your cup
If nothing comes down then I’m forced to swim up

On the way upwards the colors come back,
but all on the bottom is blue, gray and black,
the darkness is cold and perception goes wrong
and the night seems to go on incredibly long

pantomime mixtures of heaven and earth,
jumbled events that have less than no worth
time in the forest to dig under rocks
float on the ocean and sleep in a box

or sink just below all the churning and froth
and swim to the light-source, or fly like a moth
so toss away stuff you won’t need in the end
but keep what’s important – and know who’s your friend

so I ask you why
if I’m swimming by
don’t you see anything you’d like to try?