The nightingale is still locked in the cage 
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs 
An old oak sheltering me from the blue 
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves 

catnap in the ghost town of my heart 
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts 
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and [bad word] 
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys 

song of mea song in need 
Of a courageous symphony 
verse of mea verse in need 
Of a ppure-heart singing me to peace 

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying 
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing 

All that great heart lying still 
In silent suffering 
Smiling like a clown until the show [bad word] to an end 
What is left for encore 
Is the same old dead boy's song 
Sung in silence 
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying 
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing 

midnight flight into Covington Woods 
princess and a panther by m side 
These are Territories I live for 
I'd still give mt everything to love you more 

silent symphony 
hollow opus #1,2,3 

Sometimes the sky is piano black 
Piano black over cleansing waters 

Resting pipes, verse of bore  [bad word] keys without a door 

Sometimes the within is piano black 
Piano black over cleansing waters 

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying 
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing 

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street, 
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand. 
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices. 
I do, but walk by. 

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic 
It's half-light and he's in tears. 
When he [bad word] his eyes are cascading. 

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me. 
All pride has left his wild eyes. 
I wish I had my leg to spare. 

mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars. 
She's never loved him more. 

An obese girl enters an elevator with me. 
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck. 
Terribly sweeet perfume deafens me. 
She's going to dinner alone. 
That makes her even more beautiful. 

I see a model's face on a brick wall. 
statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill. 
city that worships flesh. 

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering 
man telling his story 
It was you, the grass under my bare feet 
The campfire in the dead of night 
The heavenly black of sky and sea 

It was us 
Roaming the rainy [bad word] the guilded beaches 
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn 
Bathing in places no-one's seen before 
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island 
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe 

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature 
In early air of the dawn of life 
sight to silence the heavens 

I want to travel where life travels, 
following its permanent lead 
Where the air tastes like snow music 
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden 
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture 
I would bathe in a world of sensation 
Love, goodness and simplicity 
(While violated and imprisoned by technology) 

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment 
I used to experience [bad word] love 
That love remains infintie, 
as I'll never be the man my father is 

How can you "just be yourself" 
when you don't know who you are? 
Stop saying "I know how you feel" 
How could anyone know how another feels? 

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar, 
 [bad word]  politician, wrongdoer? 
I am, you are, all of them already 

Dear child, stop working, go play 
Forget [bad word] 
There's no fear in a dream 

Is there a village inside this snowflake? 
a child aske me 
What's the colo