In some beatific elsewhere With listless and lost heart I search for the never born. The cries of scarecrows And swallows Is torn by the breeze. And while ospreys fly Aimlessly I set up my watchtower To conquer timeís Ancient dynasty. He feigns surrender, And ignores my presence. I canít release the light. It scrapes against my face. And influences me With its stillness. For the past has been breathed Relying on what cannot be And what is now remembered. I will, I will. I was betrayed.