My heart: the lampost bearing the blind
I have the hope of turning mutes to songbirds
Even the sound of my dissonant violins (my own mouth beholds a discordant orchestra)
Can't bring me from touching the sun (that hides the heavens, embracing the touch of hell)
I'm speaking in unfinished phrases, broken languages
The lies I tell are as equal as the truths, as the truths
Those who I've loved, let live, let die
Are now the insignificant details that fill our lives, fill our lives
I have left not one, but an ocean of parting words (all have drowned within this melody)
My memories filling the pages of my being (the ink runs dry to signal the curtains)
And to you, the listener, the reader, the liver
I give to you my last breath...
This life was worth living, I can say, since it is what I made it.
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