Ever vigilant he is,
roaming the world
drowned in folly,
seeking those
who are worthy.
A blow to the ear,
a faint whisper,
consciousness
populates the brain.
Standing, shocked,
the boy closed the door.
The spark has been lit,
but he shall yearn for more.

Fire, fire, grant us life
through an ascent
ever so agonizing,
ever so patronizing.
Fire, fire, purify us.
Fire, fire, liberate us.
Fire, fire, extinguish
the foul demon within.

Awaken, my children,
for the moment is right,
have no worries
wandering in the night.
Blind you may be
and hearts full of fright;
in time fortunes will steer
and you instead will plant
the seeds of fear.

Like a mother’s hug
it grants me safety,
yet
like tight fetters
it limits my freedom.

I used to call you many names.
Nightingale, vocals calming;
Rose, scent as sweet as can be;
Sugar, taste most delectable.
Where are you now?
Where is my Nightingale?
Where is my Rose?
Where is my Sugar?
Where is my Helen?

My father has entered the hovel,
the cave of fantasies,
the domicile of felicity,
the dwelling of pretty creatures.
He opens the basement door
to soothe the monstrosities of the past,
the whispers of sorrow,
the yellings of disdain.
Taking a lump of clay,
he builds a giant
to guard me,
to appease me
whenever I feel scared.
He kisses my forehead
and wishes me sweet dreams
as he opens the door
to go out in the forest.

The moon is fat
over the foggy valley.
With hasty steps,
cloaked and armed,
they approach the river
carrying some of their ilk.
They dismember them,
wash them with milk.

Spring, flowers flowered away,
I don't have any more to say.
Wherever I go, the flowers catch up
and tempt me with their smell...
It's just like her perfume...
Oh well...

She keeps her secrets in honey,
for it doesn't spoil.
Her loved one is thus eternal,
but cold and partial.