In Search Of Taste

Tracking the river, we crossed at a shallow spot.  Loaded and hunting swine, or any other lowland creature, went to get off some rounds.  Nothing in the afternoon, all the lowland creatures were sleeping, or hiding.  The merry band was coming, they stayed put.  Live to wallow another day.

Riled up and loud, these political suckers got hooked.  Convincing the convinced, educating the educated, yelling in our ears.  Only freedom given away is lost.  No more explanations are needed, but opinions are tolerated.  Draw your conclusions.

They run at night, toward the wind.  Destructive and haphazardly.  In search of life itself, in search of taste.  The future is pointless, it's uncertainties and probabilities.  It's truth.