1. From a dusty bookshelf

2. All that great heart lying still

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

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

A song of me, a song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me, a verse in need
Of a pure heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still
and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still
on an angel wing

All that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until
the show has come 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 angel wing

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

A song of me, a song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me, a verse in need
Of a pure heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still
and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still
on an angel wing

Now all that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until
the show has come 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 angel wing

3. Piano black

A silent symphony
A hollow opus #1,2,3

Sometimes the sky
is piano black
Piano black
over cleansing waters

Resting pipes,
verse of bore
Rusting 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 angel wing

4. Love

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
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 finally comes
his eyes are cascading.

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

A 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 sweet 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.
A statue of porcelain perfection
beside a violent city kill.
A city that worships flesh.

The first 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 roads,
combing the gilded 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
A 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 true love
That love remains infinite,
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,
whore, politician, wrongdoer?
I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"
- a child asked me
"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then
I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war
Nothing noble in dying
for your religion
For your country
For ideology, for faith
For another man,
Yes

Paper is dead without words
Ink idle without a poem
All the world dead without stories
Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?
All the care for the world made
Beautiful a sad man?
Why do we still carry
a device of torture around our necks?
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All you bible-black fools
living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder
If man will ever change

I, too, wish to be a decent man-boy
but all I am
Is smoke and mirrors
Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change
from G to E-Minor