The world is outside-in; we have slumbered through its making.
We who knew too little of too much happening,
We left our dreams on the walls of houses that stood,
The world is outside-in; we have made new a skyline void of feelings.
The people have been asleep,
Drunk off their banquets with their shark’s fins;
We have slumbered through much of the country’s happening,
We have been fooled into thinking of nothing.
Beers are brewed, wines have dined, cheese imported, rice are fine,
We have been sleeping in our thoughts;
The world is outside-in.
We like the world this way.
We see less of our repulsed faces.
We hide behind million dollar condos and the poor their freshly painted resettlements.
We see less of each other this way.
The rich drank their imported wines, the poor their home brewed rice shines,
We like the world this way,
We see less of ourselves this way.
We breathe toxic fumes from heavy factories,
Factories that are meant to increase the quality of our lives;
We breathe in and exhale malcontent;
We work our families to pieces,
All for selling ourselves to the open market place;
We let them know we are to live free,
But we imprison ourselves in these closed transactions.
Our families in fretful discontent.
We are slumbering to an inebriated outside from within.
醉眠 - 杜牧
秋 醪 雨 中 熟, 寒 斋 落 叶 中。
幽 人 本 多 睡, 更 酌 一 樽 空。