A visible shroud, all over me it says JOY.
In the crypt of a vampire, immense, hoisted bat entrails.
It's a kite, he is making, the wind wants to feel it.
The wind likes to move about, implore.
Prevailing winds, guide the rope's direction.

I strove for freedom more than before, forgot limits,
Now the kite can fly beyond the night, it will be jealous,
High above, in the sky, untouched by evil pride.
I am not soft hearted, prone to emphatic shivers,
But in a thousand pieces I hear every sound.

I love this earth and am reminded by the sights below,
All the birds of various descriptions, fly too,
those feather fingered sisters, they are often in pain,
Like farmers milling the sky underwing.

A cloud is a wall, then a room of purest white,
On fly the birds and on flies the kite,
On many lands falls our shade, life is below,
Now is the time to be soft hearted, swirl in torrents.