Zarathustra, your name give comfort to the lost
Your wanderings germinate to foundations of clouds
Leaving behind all from before
Not as a leader, not exactly a prophet
Fight? Win? You want your fitting battle
Dirty are all competitions, you remember
The market, the fire dancer, a death
Plunder, a cancer, meth
The end of some days may not reset
Society's fabric, you don't see the net
Far off in the gaze, with those of the cloth
The animals rather you praise
The kings are of sloth
Silsmaria a hike to heights and scribble notes
Flights of the eagles
Escapes or hunts
Come out of the mud to go back to sleep
Good or evil or beyond, the triangular choice
The spirit responds, it raises one voice
Zhuangzi would come out
To defuse your passion
Translations in doubt
Not after a fashion
Roman Ryan 