Things would become full of life again
and all the songs, time's arias
would follow as before to sustain
things hidden within us

If someone just shed that heaviness
which has imprinted our touch
and finishes sewing the coat's stitches
knowing now it doesn't hurt much

Just not to pull it on the body
as you are used to in the frost
wearing long sleeves when February
has brought love that tends to exhaust

Feel a touch where the cloth has left it
where there is the bare skin lying
where there is no place for a jacket
(it is too large for the living)

By faced tenderness
so had the brooks let you ride
between the shores that you did miss
to landscapes of night
by faced tenderness

Still wandering and unseen
you had been caught by the lands
sunk near the hidden scene
in flooding of dark, in the flood without ends
still wandering and unseen

A lover is left at the railing
we don't know there no tender face
for she broke tenderness once by stealing
the poor mortal ladies' waves of their grace

But I had heard someone said
you spread out your legs and made them sold
to the water sprites who felt too cold

A small pittance of love not so bad
was helping you until your death.

Look over there, The moon has fled
well she is not kind — she is bad
just hidden from us in a clouds' cache
and nudging them and it starts to splash
with acrid rain on the darkness
of the roofs with breath of softness
tinging a house where the sleep could stay
sleep, wherever you have slipped away
all those dreams, they have become wet
the rock is sighing it has let
the ravine to take one stone falling
and meantime here I, I am singing.

Never mind that I am in a jail
because I know the morning won't fail
to help me when it grows to inflame
out of the ripe night which keeps the same
also for the next tomorrow.
Indeed they seem to overflow
these mornings, still in a drowsy vein
as raising the head from breast of rain
which fell in love with them and shines
and to honour both with my lines
while for me a note of wind is blown
tell me, why I shouldn't sing on my own.

Hey, lament, if I may call you so
would you come here to bring your sorrow?

Fragrance, do you have things to tell?
I would breathe in your poisoned smell.

How many curtains! But none that hangs.
I feel my head, lungs and heart have pangs.

That's for the drinks I had to take.
Maybe for all that I can take.

For fasting there is a believer.
I stubbornly think of a dinner.

I'm hungry! Who cares if I ate
the tears and the fear and the hate.

I'm also thirsty. I'll drink my pail
of blizzard, rainstorm and the hail

and after getting tired from it
I fall asleep on this couplet.

But lament, why am I saying so
would you come here to bring your sorrow?

Hall, how you are full of ceiling!
It goes where the flooring is
Land prepares for giant flooding
and drinks the palms of oases

Hold the things before they will fly
Today's swirl isn't mute
Get tied down with endlessly high
torment to your inside root

To your cisterns of claims that die
being pecked through liver's shell
by fierce eagle which would **** dry
the water, drinks, pail as well.