What shall we eat,
My tiny man,
With fingers white as bone.
The black bird nest
A badgers breast,
The story fom a stone.
Who will pluck my eyes from me,
The wriggling tongue that gibbers,
The earthen sod,
The Ravens nod
The moon out from the river.
Bat speak violin,
Toad speak drum,
Fly childer, raise skin
CreepWillows hum

You will not read what is not written
You will never see my story

You will not hear the words unsaid
You will never hear my song

But you will see me
and you can touch me
Unknown you shall know me

I am becalmed
adrift,
lost at sea,
with n'er a lighthouse to look for me.
Alone upon the rising swells, which will not break their voice to tell.
Endless horizons beckon me, yet no zephyrs fill my sail
No tears are cried, no lovers sigh, all colours lost and pale
No sun above, no moon no cloud, no star to guide me home.
Below me only silent depths, above me mourning veil.
I carry with me, broken hopes,  no one will ever need
And yearnings dreams and desperate prayers
No god will ever heed.
Islands which once held me safe
are behind but always near
and pain me now
When turning
and with clarity, remain unseen.