| When we touch the world
|
| And it falls away
|
| When we feel that we’re born
|
| Just to fall apart
|
| And our mother lies in state
|
| And the broken pitcher glistens
|
| And the snow is at the window
|
| Creating neither sign nor symbol
|
| And the earth covers earth
|
| And the mud lies in pools
|
| Where the sanddunes stretch unbroken
|
| And the dry wind bends and sighs
|
| And the geese are running harmless
|
| And our desires are running wild
|
| Then we’re looking at the smoke
|
| That’s rising from the incense
|
| Neither coming here nor going
|
| Neither heaven here nor hell
|
| Neither borning here nor birthing
|
| Neither dying here nor death
|
| And we’re wrapped inside our troubles
|
| And we’re wrapped inside our pain
|
| And wracked with fires with longing
|
| And our eyes are blind with night
|
| With our fingers clutching coins
|
| And our thoughts burning with I
|
| And our eyes cannot be sated
|
| With the world and its nightmares
|
| With the world and its dreams
|
| Though later they’ll be filled
|
| With a small handful of dust
|
| And the Gods appear on the altars
|
| And we recognise their face
|
| It’s a face that we have carved there
|
| And it’s full of fear and longing
|
| And promises and threats
|
| But they neither stoop to conquer
|
| Not do they stoop to praise
|
| And the mines are void of diamonds
|
| That we carry in our rags
|
| Then all the world seems
|
| A sadness song
|
| And all the world seems
|
| A sadness song |