It is cold outside
Sense left my body...

Eleven strings on my harp
Pleading for a stranger's voice...

I believe we believed in dreams
Of whishes in the mourning, smoothening the elders...

We silently guessed the rhythm
The bass that mocks the day...

On the brink of modesty
Life's nothing more than a crumb...

Curtain call
On my name, I wish...

The fuel of the drain
Is scarcely lit with hay...

We moped the streets
At three o clock, 't was a night...

The sunken sulked their ways
In the concrete world of then...

I forgot the label today
The prize to mark my shoulder...

Mother, what is happening?
We dance and we laugh and we sing...

A clouded bed cropped the sky
For levitation is just a word...