In sadness to see my people
disappear, disappear
for there are only tears left
of what once was there.
It is such a beautifull passing
like mountains which rise,
from the poisonous lakes one
last time to there behold:
Not much was needed but to
take care of it instead;
to not pour it into the wells
and cisterns for bribes.
The last of the dragons roars
I hear them afar, I too
must roar with them for we
are dying, dying like
into the clouds and beneath
the darkened earth -
the silk is torn, the sound
of it is like screaming
into the stars above us -
If only they knew:
The eternal nightingale
which cometh now. |