(A Man and His Muse)
I’m not in this place, I’m far away. And though you see me here, this form is just a shade. No more than words or wind, I’m ethereal, incorporeal, fading.
You’re not in that place, that brick and wooden cage. Under dim skies, in distant twilight. No, you’re not in that place. In harsh snowfall, across black ice.
No neither you nor I. So when I say I’m right there beside you, that’s no empty comfort. No, I mean every word I say.
Sing to me. Sing to me of Men and rage, war and holy things! Muse, sing to me. Sing! And sing despair. If you sing anything, sing despair.