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And now he was flying, content
pouring from his mind
through his fingers
into a void

and there, late at night
aimed at the dawn
pouring from his soul,
to no-one at all

in a state so rehearsed
from the previous verse
he shakes with some vigour
and coughs out a curse

oh I could have awoken
At that moment of might
But wrapped up in dreams arms
Walked out of the night

And now what comes out is lost
Because the audience is lost too,
In the infinity of the search
the search for what to find

such keywords and clear words and fear’s words
bandied about, into the fire, clear as day, vague as a mouth
the shadow of the night on the day, cast long and lazy
like a fly from a rod into a cool lake on a fresh day

The audience is waiting
The audience is lost
We are all in the the front row
And at such a cost

Can’t put a finger on
A dangerous machine
Can’t get a grip on
A freedom so mean

Seven million souls
Or spiritual holes
Placeholders for statistics
Consumers of loaves

How much love can they generate
Is it balanced by hate
And confined in our quarters
We all have to wait.

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