Is this as good as it gets?   'cause
I'm feeling a little bit tricked,
I'm feeling a little bit foolish like
my dream's had it's pockets picked,
I've been waiting to see
if the hands of Fate
have slipped me a hand
that's not mine,
but it's getting late
and while I've been waiting
she's robbed me of all of my time,
my time,
Fate's robbing me all of the time..

A fool and his heart
Are soon parted.
Sounds flippant
And distant;
Unless you're the fool,
And it's your heart.

Though our struggles we overcome.
We trust and with a Leap of Faith.
We soar to higher heights we free.
We hang on with no regrets to God.
For we are only flying because of him.
For his Spirit is our co-pilot and helper.
For in him, we need to fear nothing here.
For he has already seen our every victory.
But actually , they are all his victories through us.

by Federico Garcia Lorca*

The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.