That ghostly fruit; that dangles between my eyes
And its sweet, treacle like taste, just within my reach
But I can’t touch it, no matter how hard I try
It feels as if, progress is stuck in rock-hard concrete

It sings to me, its voice like beckoning waves
Juicy and vibrant; like a flower calling an insect
Smiling how it will when it dances on my grave
Gnawing on my temptation, confident and erect

I feel the need to chase the phantom goal
The ambrosia that will fulfil all my desires
The ambrosia that man has long since stolen
It keeps me running with a blazing fire

Yet that spiritual fruit; never will I find
And I know, in some part of my heart
That the passionate fire of young wishes has made me blind
Was destined to burn out from the start

But I will chase that non-achievable dream
If only to survive another second; another day
To give me hope; like fire does to steam
That spiritual fruit, that shows me the ocean, but never the bay