Our spy hides at night in his native land
We know little about him
Is he a male or is she a female ?
Do beasts flow in his wake ?
Is he made of flesh or 
is she a mere silhouette lost in the mist ?

No one can doubt where
His battle is fought

We don't pretend to capture our spy
We don't even pretend to approach him
We walk to the foot of the stairs
Which ascend from the hallowed ground
We do not beg pardon

No one can doubt where
Our battle was fought

Our spy lives under our houses 
and smells the doubt on our skin
Fallen leaves, needles
Dead limbs, dry beetles
Even plants protect us from the rain

No one can doubt where
The battle was fought

Our spy is an answer to most of our fears
Going underground is
Entering a world of make-believe
The pay isn't as good as it used to
be But the work is steady

No one there can doubt where
The battle was fought

Our spy is an answer to all of our questions
Our spy steals into ourselves...


(c) Jean Marie Mathoul