Of the many men I am, the fool is never concealed. Of all the books I've read, nothing ever revealed. Stack up all the heavy words, burn them and walk away. I cannot remember much more than a day. I'm dwelling on the darkest stone, wandering the world and never coming home. Talking to myself again, pouring salt in wounds, pretending that what isn't said is clearer than the noon. Soaring over frozen fjords, crashing to the rime. You offer me a slender hand
and teach me how to climb. I'm dwelling on the darkest stone, wandering the world and never coming home.
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