With no prominence to you parlor
The cause earnings of the loaned ear
The reflection that had suited me once
Has become the ruffle that folds the tatters

Filled once with the desire of hands
That collected constellational coats
Ovation that grasped the silver moon
I am the remembrance of stars like gold

Retrospection has left me promised rag
I wish to fill your hands with resonance
Sounds that clatter the warm intuitions
Like the shooting stars of the cosmos dark