Should I die in silence?
Should the sky not be singing with the wind?
Should you not be dancing
At the close of darkness when the flowers hide their faces?

I will be with you all, brethren
Iwill bear the pall of darkness with you all
When there be a little rain or sunshine
I will break loose with you, brethren, with you all

If I at all die in silence
Give me your hand, brethren
Give me your mind to rise in peace
I will be with you all, brethren
When I will die in peace of silence
And I will take your hand
I will take your mind
And all of you with me in dying
Should I die at all in silence.

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Again I will come to this world
Again I will hear the rustling breeze of the leaves
Again the sun will give me the shade to sit with the chirping birds
And my mother will open her breast to my fluttering lips.

Again somebody's sky will open its heart to me
And I will love you as you go from one ocean to another
Again I will come to this world just to love to leave it once again.

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Let there be no light
Darkness, let there be darkness
Till the next sun rises and dies once again
Till the little emperor professes the law of curfew
Till the Prophet of wisdom upholds
The longing death of belonging freedom

Let there be the death of hope
Let there be the death of Halloween will
In corpses of silence of lengthening shadows
Till the death of darkness bears the pall of hope and lies
Of all lives with the coming of the next Apocalypse

Till there be a chaos of praying darkness
Till there be an upturned rising of the dying sun
In the darkening firmament upholding the crucified law
Let there be the long death of days and nights
Let there be no Halloween will of hope and freedom
To herald the coming of the next Prophet of wisdom

Let there be darkness, more darkness
Till the next little emperor forbids and forgives
Let there be no light and no more light perceives
To blaze the trail of death’s longing shadow of darkness
Let there be death and darkness be the death’s harness.

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If I am not the darkness
Who should blow the wind for you?
If I am not the death
Who should bear the pall for you?

I am the Prophet
You are the truth unto the unknown
If you are the known
Who should be there to be the God's prefect?

If I am the darkness
You are the death's harness
I will be there to toll the bell for you
And I will weave the web of God's wear for you.

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One cry
And many more
Come and join the outcry
As hungirily shouts the little soldier :
Hunger! Hunger!

Hungry for food, hungry of soul
Hunger famishes the howling bowl
Hunger tarnishes the beautiful little face
As hunger disrobes him with very little lace
Hunger is as it stops all very talking
Hunger is as it keeps all the doors locking
Hunger stokes the right to fire
As hunger sees the red eyes' ire
To rebel against what they do not get
in their way
Never to forget that their happiness
is at bay

Life is so beautiful what hunger is not to be
But life is ugly when hunger is as it is to be
Life is all happiness when hungry souls
make all their way to the heaven
Life is all about sadness if hungry souls fail
to make all that even
Life is called the hunger, freedom is called
the hunger
As life is the right to fight for what is the life
of a self-believer

Liberty with bread and butter
What is called the fulfillment of hunger
As the shouts of million voices cry
In many more little soldiers' outcry :
Hunger! Hunger! Fulfill the right to hunger!

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It hurts me
When after a long rain
Or in a long while of sunshine
The scarecrow stares at me
And gives me a full cry of scare
With its eyes wide shut out
Killing me halfway
From the swaying breeze
To a wide-eyed darkness
Of tattered clothes
And beehive bones
All falling into a swoon
At my lazy feet

The shadow of its puckered face
Saying nothing but old sweet nothings
That redeems my weary heart
Out of the weakening chaos of uneasy calm
Leaving a blazing trail of nothing
But sickly skeleton of washbone silence

It hurts me when it keeps silence
Like a gravedigger uncouth an forbidden face
To forsake me halfway to the long lurch
When I am left with no choice
But to grasshop a further way from the aisle
Of washbone silence of imperial blue
To catch a glimpse of the rising inferno
In the microcosm of my own face
And the rotunda of the philistine sky
Hanging loose over my non-believing eyes
To see it dying once more in sunshine
Or in dense rain coming close to my heels
As the scarecrow collapses on its long gravestand
And the wings of the bird shoot off the ground
Scaring me away to say the last goodbye
In my keeping voice of long washbone silence.

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