Sing me a song, child;
sing me to places undreamed.
Let me soil my soles in foreign earth
and breath
just breath
great gasping breaths untainted by Napoleon.

Sing me a song, child;
take me away from this place.
Take me to a world where the spartan wordsmith
paints his walls with vanquished demons,
but not
dear lord not
merely electroconvolution's bitter failing aftermath.

Sing me a song, child;
tell me of a place where a man
with courage and will and destiny
can tear meaning from creation's heart
and win
truly win
his soul's sought prize.

Why, child, why?
Does your voice falter and fade,
overwhelmed by a deafening silence
and a blinding darkness?
Sing, or
if you cannot sing,
Whistle! Hum! Whisper...

I'll sing you a song, child;
close your eyes and listen a while.
I'll sing to you of radiant worlds
and noble souls
and justice and peace and love.
Just promise,
give me your word,
that you'll open your eyes before long.

Sing me a song, child;
Sing with me once more.
Raise your voice child,
one last refrain,
a fragrant note,
a chorus defiant,
a little warmth
-- this bitterly cold world.