The sacred language of the Birds,
Seething volcanos call out,
Like dreams of children,

The only way I find to see,
Anything at all,
Is a tent I call Holy,

In order to forget,
You must remember,
Lonely nights from November to December,

Search for whatever you can find,
Find whatever you define,
Or desire,
Like truth on the fire

I met a Mohawk Child,
Asking me questions about,
Lives of desire