It's not the madness, it's the loneliness it brings that makes you sad,
And isn't everybody, who is caged like an animal
And misunderstood like a zookeeper?
I've touched your mind's garment,
I've worn your masked face,
I've followed you to bed
And you've inhabited my dreams.
I want to enter that final song of union
But I spin variations of my closeness,
Tombstones of my longing.
The symphony ends on a field with flowers
Where the audience has been outdistanced,
So quiet, I am finally free
To know the flowers as you,
Intertwining with whatever is underneath,
Growing without need of a trace of my being
Or yours, after, out of the war,
The peace has been spoken.
