To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song. To live in Wales is to be conscious
At dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields' corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song.

Under bulletproof glass
I'll keep our dreams,
When the night is right
They will find our eyes,
In them I'll see you,
I'll see you soon.

It is hard to describe how beautiful you look,
Harder still to capture it by my hands.
Yet, here I am closely following each line of your face,
Like taking it in for the first time,
Almost like falling for you all over again.

Satan wears no horns,
nor does he boast a tail or pitchfork.
He wears soft lips
and freckles in his eye.
You share coffee with him
and your secrets, too.
The devil is the easiest creature
to fall in love with.
I once fell victim
to his sweet forked tongue.
He made a home in my heart;
painted the walls
and planted a garden.
He broke all the plates,
all the flowers died,
and he blamed the destruction on me.
(p.)