Perhaps This Is What Really Happens In

A White Crowned Night Sparrow Sings As The Moon Sets. Thunder Growls Far Off. Our Campfire Is A Single Light. Amongst A Hundred Peaks And Waterfalls. The Manifold Voices Of Falling Water Take All Night. Wrapped In Your Down Bag Starlight On You Cheeks And Eyelids Your Breath Comes And Goes In A Tiny Cloud In The Frosty Night. Ten Thousand Birds Sing In The Sunrise. Ten Thousand Years Revolve Without Change. All This Will Never Be Again.

We Have Forgotten Love, And Sat Lonely Beside Each Other. We Have Eaten Together, Lonely Behind Our Plates, We Have Hidden Behind Children, We Have Slept Together In A Lonely Bed. Now My Heart Turns Toward You, Awake At Last, Penitent, Lost In The Last Loneliness. Speak To Me. Talk To Me. Break The Black Silence.

There Have Always Been Those Who, Though They See Tragedy As The Outcome Of Freedom, Will Nevertheless Judge That Tragedy Is Not Too High A Price To Pay.

Lost In Loneliness And Pain. Black And Unendurable, Thinking Of You With Every Corpuscle Of My Flesh, In Every Instant Of Night And Day.

Bohemia Is A Commune In Which The Revolution Is Over And Everyone Is A Member Of The Aristocracy