Let it say something  
 from what i already know   
 grieves me 
 and compels me to romance.   
   
 Do what the wind carries   
 free to drift,   
 may memory itself   
 être lumière de fée. 
     
 crystal tears   
 gesticulations of the mind   
 carried in unreason   
 under the eye of the tiger. 
     
 From the well of oblivion   
 climb in rainy weather   
 the melodious chord   
 from the murmur of traditions.
      
 From the shock of the plow   
 against the buried stone   
 the white label is born   
 stridency of energy.
      
 He is singing the blackbird   
 what the syrinx allows,  
 a bright golden feather   
 on the slab of silence.   

   
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