Town in the shadow of a mountain
Crown of the mountain came avalanching down
All summer long
We were stalking what
We came to call THE SONG.
THE SONG was a kind of eruption –
Mover of mountains,
Avalanche of crowns
When we were young
We sought the laws
We thought would cause
THE SONG.
Life is a dream we are phantoms.
Man is the union of Divinity and Dust.
All summer long,
When we were young
Before we’d sung THE SONG.
No mere machine
Made of music
Of words and music
As other songs are –
This was THE SONG,
A recipe, a remedy a cure.
THE SONG would be sung
On the border
Sung by us standing
Straddling the line
Between two worlds
Unified only by THE SONG.
