Makers make sense of rhetoric.
Knowledge is more than you think.
Baking bread is my fetishism;
My escape from the deadly plague.
We both end up being 'ologists'
To invent heritage from godly remains.
Do you still believe in your goddesses?
This is more than the question of faith.
We make sense of false and fake politics
While they’re tasting their lives as saints;
This is not just the plain rhetoric
Which goes on and on, and then fades.
Lets all become archaeologists!
And invent things from remains!
My knowledge buys only your knowledge;
Let this be our stock for exchange.
When you talk again to your goddesses,
Try listening to what they will say…
Mine only blab on about politics
And sell their claims on eBay.
Next time you talk to them, honestly,
Say what you always wanted to say:
That you will become an archaeologist
To reinvent fair (trading) gods and true saints.