Who’ll sing
my song
when I
am gone?

Who’ll paint
the sky?

I live
for love
who can’t
be loved–it
is my fate.

I am root
and I am
flower–soon
will be my
bitter hour.

A knife,
a rope,
the wind,
the sea,

these are
the things
that call
to me.

You stand up
and I fall down;
I dance for you
who cannot see.

Is love
what I am
all about–
I sell my soul
and I sell out?

A pair of eyes,
a wisp of hair
and I am lost
and I am there.

Wars are wars,
countries fall,
children die and
I am born.

Again and always,
I return to find you gone;
there must be something
more than this–someway
to end this bitter kiss.