They'll smother you with all these images,
of all these things you're supposed to do,
all these things you're supposed to see.
And they look so appealing.
They look like a dream.
Something worth wanting.
Something that makes sense of all this insanity.
Because everything works out,
when you're standing infront of one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
You find yourself.
Is that not clear?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem