How many of us truly Live?
Knowing at day’s end that we are free
And, with Joy, laugh towards the Moon
For monumental sleep
How many of us truly Love?
Desperately lying with anyone or thing
And, made numb, turn away from the Sun
Into the coma-void of sleep
I am no longer whole
A face for none to know
A shape beyond the Snow
And I have lost my hold
A burning down of Rome
The May 7th of the Soul
Slumber in the wilds of Isolation
I fight until my final breath
Severed from all communication
I fight to self-realize until Death
How may of us truly Feel
The death of our land below these filthy streets?
And, with self-sense lost, we daydream towards the Sun
In the denial of waking sleep
