Come sit by the fire

And let us sing songs of the broken heart

Come sit by the fire

And let us cry, in the memory of love gone far apart

Sometimes……I dream.

I dream of the land of the throat singers,

where strings play the melody of death

and the flute sings the lament of the damned.

I see the pale sun going down,

tired of all the sickness it sees.

I sense the exhausted wind dying down,

hurt by all the cruelty it feels.

I am a believer

and an optimist too

My sight is full of colors

and vision vibrates with pleasure

Yet the mood remains;

the darkest shade of blue