Even though we shout and trumpet
The old and blessed sun to rise,
We are not men with loud voices.
Forgive us, for we want to let,
Our cold heart yearn to realise,
And our lost soul search for choices.
Frail morning comes and we forget,
Some shout to the new day with lies,
We are not men with grand horses.
We are beggars near palace gates,
Shouting to be heard by someone,
But the answer is cold silence.
Though the twain of Night and Day waits,
For you the wish is never done,
Our lives are constant penitence.
As we compare each other’s dates,
The is no great prize to be won.
There is just a dance with nonsense.
Captured inside the peaceful dove,
Is a heart that knows only flight,
Now must be the new time to Love,
We must cease the dark night,
We must get ready to unfurl.
Let the prisoner in our hearts free,
We have crafted the pearl,
And wish to be washed to the sea.