So here I am on the ledge again,
A golden sea bellowing beneath my feet,
I have become the wind, as translucent as the evening light,
A leper here on the mountain side,
A lover's quarrel whirling into the vacuum,
A droplet lingering on the edge of a tulip's petal,
Behold the abyss below, lurching upwards into the city streets,
An apparition emerges out of our music, submerged in April showers,
And thus we sit as the night unfolds before us,
We sit together in contemplation of that immortal tale,
Of the beggar and his broken pen,
Composer of the dying causes,
That seductress of the wintered minds,
And we bellow into the night, ou