|
Sweet irony hits my tangled troubles |
|
And frees this blade |
|
From the stranding line |
|
Cynically slides |
|
Through dusty gemstone |
|
To offer a soft respite |
|
To my ethereal plagues |
|
Let me cover with silence |
|
The figures around me |
|
A velvety sigh |
|
On the noisy stammering |
|
Let me cover with silence |
|
The figures around me |
|
Grow to a physical |
|
Essence |
|
And heavily walk |
|
On this living mosaic |
|
Called pain |
|
I can hear the breath |
|
Of every dowel |
|
My demons are waiting |
|
Conceal this fool architecture |
|
From my singing conviction |
|
Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads |
|
And dethrone the useless days |
|
From my infested eyes |
|
Irony, my care |
