The troubadours have long gone senile
the wandering minstrels lost
in an epoch maze of Daliesque confusion
the tainted sirens wail and groan on tossing grids
battering plots and curses in bile purses
to the lame and the beggars
the mermaids are stranded on burning rocks
the Town criers rings a bell with no rung
and yells weeks old news now stale
the whisperers are trading iniquities and grovelling
with the ferryman for more time
a black foreboding cloud covers them all
they all breath fear in a a breeze of pervading fear
they see themselves and see nothing
they have been conquered by themselves
their winter is with them
yet the sun is shining and the skies are blue
from whence and nowhere a lone voice thrills
'look within yourselves...look within yourselves