Cherish this song for I seldom sing.
Hold high this bold expression.
I sing to you with silent, unmoving lips,
I sing because I cannot.
Let me sing to Love with my silence,
to the love that dare noy touch me,
dare no unfurl its sleeping bloom.

Cherish me for I am all loving,
yet I will never kiss you,
will never be kissed.
I sing to love disenchanted.
Its odorous flower has not touched me,
has not intoxicated my mind;
that ivory catacomb that is more a Prison than a Sanctuary.

Hold high the bold expression of Love Rejected,
hold it high into the light so that you can see it is very real.
Listen to this song of love, to love, for love.
Hear these silent words, this ode.
There is something to love in everyone;
in each individual bloom something is found to treaure;
even if it is that its odor is so repulsive it makes all others sweet.

I sing this song, for I am unforgiving.
Unforgiving of that very thing that makes me human,
unforgiving of that sleeping unfurled bloom, so Enchanting,
still I remain Disenchanted.
No sorrow shall touch me, I lie face down in a meadow,
I do not see the blooms, I do not wish to,
they do not see me.

Silence so deafening as I sing.
I find that my words flow freely when there is no one there to hear them.
I sing so loudly while my lips never move,
not a smile graces them, not a frown.
I sing this song to cherished Love,
that untouchable flower whose pollen I am so allergic,
surely it shall rip from me my final breath.

I sing to love for it is my great mystery,
I sing to love for I know it well.
Let me sing this silent song to the very thing that alludes me,
astounds and confounds my very nature.
This song to love offsets this melancholy heart that beats.
Love is not a thing one strives for, but falls into-
I shall always watch my step.

Silently this song is weeping,
not for a loss or for a longing,
but for others love, and their loss and longings.
I sing this song to fickle love, so tiresome,
to Love The Ruin Of Many.
I sing this weeping ballad to the Star-Crossed,
and to the Lovelorn, Slain and Weeping.

To Love I sing my awful Vengence,
to Love I sing my plea for Mercy.
It is the Coward that would kiss ones feet.
I find that so many malevolent things hide in your good grace.
Why is it so simple to hide behind your mask?
Close your eyes and breathe deeply,
your vapor changes odor on vile flesh.

I sing this song to Love Ever Fleating,
though I seldom ever sing,
my lips shall not move, dare not speak,
I could never utter these words.
Silently I sing this Weeping Song, this Ode,
this Ballad if you will,
to a bloom lay sleeping unfurled.