Siroccos,
               Siroccos,
what does your fortune tell?
how many times have past around
since those men drew the well?

no favors given
and none received
except, of course,
the neverending gloat
of my heart upon my sleeve

i long for days that haven't passed
i long for days that will
meaningless moments and precarious premonitions, yes

they are,
sit upon my windowsill

i lost a lot
i lost it all
Every Single Bit
and if you could come a little closer
well,
you'd hear me have a fit

but i lock it up inside my mind
and hope like hell it stays
feel in underneath my skin
the yellow screaming rays
and if it doesn't
well, you know
my head will surely blow
and if it does
not a peep, in comes
from underneath the stone