Oh madness by the waning sun
i twist about the haze of tall grass
suspecting, darling, you may be the one
with Whitman’s grizzled ass

Oh joy, beneath the frigid moon
I am the statue that always lies
beside the river with a silent tune
that is every star’s sweet sighs

We are the dance, the waltz that grates
flesh to dust, and dust to stone
We are the music, the crescendo of hates
balled up with lost trust until we’re alone

If every day becomes the apathetic rage
perhaps it best we stay inside love’s cage?