I must suppose I'm fine. I laugh a lot.
My work is bearable. I have a home.
I guess I like this town I'm in. I'll not
annoy you with the glass that's half ... half what?
I spend a lot of time on Google Chrome,
meandering the streets of Naples, Rome,
Arezzo ... why is that? I've lost the plot?
Or am I just a closet polyglot
who missed his calling? Afternoons are light,
and Donizetti's lapping at my ears.
At times like this, my hobbled soul takes flight
and dreams of Italy. When I have fears
that all my sweetest songs have now been sung,
I turn to Italy. And I am young.
A cacophonic silence,
A mere blanch of a catastrophic faliure,
A maroon in a sickening mirage,
'tis a shade one more,
As a ray one less,
Fairing smiles adiue,
Requiem of a chastised face,
Lay a bed,
O'er wond'rous, to waste.
Where'n freshen lie fast in his daze,
Merry may go his hour,
Time shroud.
However vivid,
a weary slumber ,
Is but man's sorry tire,
Weeping sore,
Once dreaded in languishment,
Once cowered behind the stars.
Not an eye unopened,
Nor a God that sleeps.
I must suppose I'm fine. I laugh a lot.
My work is bearable. I have a home.
I guess I like this town I'm in. I'll not
annoy you with the glass that's half ... half what?
I spend a lot of time on Google Chrome,
meandering the streets of Naples, Rome,
Arezzo ... why is that? I've lost the plot?
Or am I just a closet polyglot
who missed his calling? Afternoons are light,
and Donizetti's lapping at my ears.
At times like this, my hobbled soul takes flight
and dreams of Italy. When I have fears
that all my sweetest songs have now been sung,
I turn to Italy. And I am young.
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