Why is it that my emotions are so easily described in the words of others?
Can I not rely on myself to relate to my own consciousness?
Or is it more that I adapt more kindly to the feelings of others, rather than facing what is truly mine?

I broke all of my promises
And accepted, shamefully,
all of the nightmares hidden-

Let me ask you my dear,
do you mind if we feel lonely together?

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.