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Sitting in solvent songs of silence, breathing out

the insane tones of violence, the soul begins

to drink it all away...

on the ground the sky is spinning.

The beauty in my hands is held like steel

but the grip is lost in thought.

I run away, run away into a forgotten field

of sunflowers-heads pointed to the moon.

Down in the lonely halls of growing stems

lies the answer, but it's much to sad to tell.

The words I take from shelves, the tears I take

from my bitter past...all I want is some feeling from

this night to go on and grow.

This field, in the damp summer night, holds some wisdom...

so silent from down below, the party of adolescence

dancing by the fire, the lake reflects the glow.

This hand...pulling the stems of wisdom in birth, out

comes the roots that grip the earth in desperation.

Down the hill to the fire, sunflower in hand, the roots

pull me back down to my friends below,

giving me power to grow.

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