I ride a pale horse into the wind

The wind is a woman, a siren of sin

Drunkards  black shadows on the bar room floor

I will not go down with shadows anymore

Yet, it is the shadow that understands the ectasy of sound

Silence is large and sound is thinner

It is the sound I hunger for

Black marigolds and silence  are my dinner

I tie up my horse and wait for the sinner