Here is a riddle to be woven into dreams: Why do blossoms hold their perfume Now that love has lost its bearing And fear dons its corona at the helm of all we’ve lost? Why do birds compose new melodies to acclaim the toil of tempests that make dragon roars seem nothing more than flickers in the wind? Why do stars still dance fandangos as the world erupts in anguish? Why do crickets hum their lullabies despite Hiroshima rains? Why do dawns insist on painting skies the colours of Matisse? Why does music hold the key to any magic that remains? For you and I my love For you and I For you and I