Hands, Matches, An Ashtray. A Ritual Beautiful

Sunset In The Ethereal Waves: I Cannot Tell If The Day Is Ending, Or The World, Or If The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me Again.

If You Were Music I Would Listen To You Ceaselessly And My Low Spirits Would Brighten Up.

Song Falls Silent, Music Is Dumb, But The Air Burns With Their Fragrance, And White Winter, On Its Knees, Observes Everything With Reverent Attention.

No Foreign Sky Protected Me, No Stranger's Wing Shielded My Face. I Stand As Witness To The Common Lot Survivor Of That Time, That Place.

This Land, Although Not My Native Land, Will Be Remembered Forever. And The Sea's Lightly Iced, Unsalty Water. The Sand On The Bottom Is Whiter Than Chalk, The Air Is Heady, Like Wine, And The Rosy Body Of The Pines Is Naked In The Sunset Hour. And The Sunset Itself On Such Waves Of Ether That I Just Can't Comprehend Whether It Is The End Of The Day, The End Of The World, Or The Mystery Of Mysteries In Me Again.