Real tenderness can't be confused, It's quiet and can't be heard.

You will hear thunder and remember me, and think: she wanted storms.

Now no one will listen to songs. The prophesied days have begun. Latest poem of mine, the world has lost its wonder, Don't break my heart, don't ring out.

Rising from the past, my shadow Is running in silence to meet me.

This cruel age has deflected me, like a river from this course. Strayed from its familiar shores, my changeling life has flowed into a sister channel. How many spectacles I've missed: the curtain rising without me, and falling too. How many friends I never had the chance to meet.

If you were music I would listen to you ceaselessly And my low spirits would brighten up.

I have long had this premonition of a bright day and a deserted house