A dead leaf in the wind
Two mountains they’re twins?

Who could imagine?
Who could imagine,
                                it’s so small?
Who could imagine?
Who could imagine,
                                   it’s so tall!

So black, so dark, so white such a shark
                              It is eating me
                                     eating me
                                            apart.
So vicious, so lovely, so deadly such a warm heart
                             It is eating me
                                    eating me
                                            apart.

                        Apartment class,
                                a castle vast.

Who could imagine?
Who could imagine,
                               it’s so small?
Who could imagine?
Who could imagine,
                                  it’s so tall!

I love what I hate
I hate what I love.

Isn’t it strange,
        isn’t it?
                 isn’t it?
       isn’t it?
                 isn’t it?

So black, so dark, so white such a shark
                              it is eating me
                                     eating me
                                            apart.
So vicious, so lovely, so deadly such a warm heart
                             it is eating me
                                    eating me
                                            apart.

I’m a crime; I’m a shame; I’m to blame, lovely.
                                           lovely,
                                    just lovely,
                                            lovely.
I’m a crime; I’m a shame; I’m to blame, lovely.


You cannot describe me,
   except it hurts so good.

                              So good.

You complete me
Utterly save me
For you the fear hides
My angel choir

                           My demise
                           My failures that arise
                           None but you
                           Could tremble this softened heart
        

         I praise the joy
         Humbled finally
         From the first
         To the last



                                     I'm already lost
                                     Deeper than any ocean traverse
                                     Forget me, for I  
                                     I love.

Wayward off you go towards where your feet take you
Wayward daughter, wayward son
To the end of the world, we go
Towards the edge of soil and liquids
To the end, we go.

Stubborn deceit,
                           love is a foreign air—
                                                            ­ we become the clothing we wear.

Wayward we go, to imagine our immortality;
to our sorrow; to our horror; to our heartless core, we found nothing more.

If our fate is to climb to the stars, a rule must be set never to forget the dirt, from which we were born. We become the clothing we wear.

Is it so that life chants melodies of death while death hums lullabies of life—
Tributes of the kindred, of devotion, of love.
Sweetest of longing, of belonging to be one; life sends death gifts; death returns the favour.
Wouldn’t it be so? Life gives birth to a souvenir; it evolves; it grows; it transforms. At the very end of the journey however it started, ended and all the parts in-between—the gift is received.
It is treasured as one of a kind, kindred, as one of life as one of death, kindred.
Wouldn’t it be so? Death partakes in it, value it beyond means to which we could fathom that the only thing death could send back is the essence; the soul; the spirit of what life gave.
It is treasured as one of a kind, kindred, as one of death as one of life, kindred.
Kindred.