I hug the blade of time,
4658My head a flaming tower
4658What is this blood rooted in the sand And this dwindling within?
4658Flames of the present,
4658What have we got to say?

My soul has forgotten the object Of its passion,
4658Forgotten its legacy hidden
4658At the heart of images

No longer remembers the story told
4658By the rain
4658Nor that of the trees inscribed in their ink.

What is it that separates me from myself? Could I be more than one?
4658Could my story be my downfall
4658And my promised land my pyre?

Could I be several?
4658One questions the other: who are you, whence do you come?
4658 Could it be madness?
4658 So teach me, madness, be my guide