We are fruit on the vine
growing fat and ripe,
     oblivious to the big black crow
while we sit sunning.

     What can we say of ourselves after
     thousands of years of existence?
     What should we say?
          Yes, we rule the Earth and several earths yet thought of.
          Yes, entire ecosystems tremble at our footsteps.
          Yes, there is nothing too large for us to put under our boots.

     Stomp those grapes.
     Each new stake in the ground is a concord for pressing.

     Man is big and bad and afraid of his own shadow.
     Man the Conqueror.
     Man the Man-Hunter.

     We recline in the chair of God at evening
          (when God is still off running the universe),
     proud of our dayÕs work, and
     toasting the grapes of the day
     with wine fermented by our own ego and bald blind gusto.

     Stomp those grapes.
     Each new pressing makes for an excellent toast.

     We are all fruit on the vine
growing fat and ripe,
     oblivious to the next black crow
while we sun.

     Oh, we are big important grapes we areÑ
     thereÕs a certain irony in grapes drinking wine.

We are all but fruit on the vine.