Drawing from deep, uncovering commandments, longing to spend Love,
Language lives in moments, sleeps in you, but still awake for Love, to Love,
Yet no one hears your gold and silver songs, from there, quiet and quieter times had,
Again, again, no Harp chorus heard, so better let go, forever, you, the stuttering Lover, time and time falls from your hands,
Then, those others, those Lover’s thieves of other’s Lovers take your chances, and so, Lover and Love, gone.