Her wingless arms are moving lines
Circling skies and wandering signs
Sensual trees are worrisome
Blessed is he that rests this song

She moves her arms to see the clouds
But gone is he and sorrow bound

Faced with the season of serpents
Damned by the gods; by her words

She mingles fiery silk and seeds
To grow that weed and lose the clown
Demons rise and fill the coat, put on his hat
And walk around

Faced with the season of serpents
Damned by the gods; by her words

Sing, oh soulless yearling and beg
Beg that shimmering star
To clean your knife and mend that golden crown

The weaver and I spun the wheel
Picked the loom and waited high
Slowly feeling that northern breeze
The taste that we’ll defend this time!

Loose the heart that beating beast and
Move your hips across the ground

Faced with a reason to circumvent
The old styles and words

Sing, oh soulless yearling and beg
Beg that shimmering star

Sing, oh soulless seer and beg
Beg that painted eye
To clean your knife and mend that snake-like tongue

A page from a book, a word from her eyes
The beat of her wings…what’s left of this line