The need for a thousand ears

Words run down the slopes;
A freshwater stream,
split into a thousand.
The thirsty come closer,
or so I wish.
But their thirst is not my affliction,
neither do I tout a permanent riddance.

These words and my visage is transitory -
a stimulant nobody would forever pursue.
Because every thirst is born of a new need,
where every journey leads to a new brook,
and every brook offers a new relief.
These are no ordinary waters.