You stuck a needle
of cheap material
You were probably alone
As things that grow in the rain
And I wonder
what you've felt
If to your rescue one of these poets came
those sentimentalists you knew by heart
those delicate revolutionaries

But your hoarse voice will allways
sound
around the trees of my head

Absent you are
When everything was nice
No one ever knew
What you must have felt
Alone

This world was not for you
It is not for anyone else