I thud on a [bad word] 
barely a span long
the rough barrel-beat
was my cradlesong
 
You ask why I keep still
why I don’t pour it out into the night
You know
You know if it rises and floats
It effaces every piece of light
 
Foreign what my lips say
Foreign my hair, my dress
Foreign what your eyes ask
about this strangeness
 
You ask why I keep still
why I don’t pour it out into the night
You know
You know if it rises and float
It effaces every piece of light
 
When scream masses on wound
I want to meet you
When the great testimony
from your branches trickles down
 
Here my soul grows
‘til it smashes
above the scene, the balcony