Steady the fall of my head in the shade,
to hear the hissing and see the light of the blade,
the echo of my mind in the cave where i dwell
witnesses the falling of my reflection in a well.

The dreams of colours will never come true
in the sadness of your green eyes i am blue
the stillness of the statue with no skin
the shadow is tacked up on this wall by a pin.

Sweating of your blood in long carved out hands
out of marble the fury of howling winds on dead lands;
to paint in one stroke a body of paper on the air
to listen to a voice ranting its despair

is to see through your sheer body of waters,
is to know the coming of the child from the womb,
as to know who you are is the only thing that matters
in the brain of the lived long dead as he blathers

in trances and in the fury, you should remember the tomb.