The Moon Carries The Masks Of Meningitis

I Sing Your Restless Longing For The Statue, Your Fear Of The Feelings That Await You In The Street. I Sing The Small Sea Siren Who Sings To You, Riding Her Bicycle Of Corals And Conches. But Above All I Sing A Common Thought That Joins Us In The Dark And Golden Hours. The Light That Blinds Our Eyes Is Not Art. Rather It Is Love, Friendship, Crossed Swords.

Woodcutter. Cut My Shadow From Me. Free Me From The Torment Of Being Without Fruit. Why Was I Born Among Mirrors? Day Goes Round And Round Me. The Night Copies Me In All Its Stars. I Want To Live Without My Reflection. And Then Let Me Dream That Ants And Thistledown Are My Leaves And My Parrots.

If I Told You The Whole Story It Would Never End...what's Happened To Me Has Happened To A Thousand Woman.

With Their Souls Of Patent Leather, They Come Down The Road. Hunched And Nocturnal, Where They Breathe They Impose, Silence Of Dark Rubber, And Fear Of Fine Sand.

My Head Is Full Of Fire And Grief And My Tongue Runs Wild, Pierced With Shards Of Glass.