She sits there bored, such a lovely delight,
her dark hair is distraught,
her hand ever bright
me has long ago forgot, -
long ago it forgot its own
as it hangs on the nape of the chair.
Into lights I drown
as I grind in the orb of the year.
I show her the teeth in my mouth
but she knows that I do not laugh,
the sweet creature of light
me to myself draws forth
while she sits there bored, such a lovely delight,
and only for her I face life
in this world fierce and wild
under the sky.
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