For Juliek.

For this great writhing wretched crowd

Who o’er their dying fathers bowed

And spoke the name of God aloud:

With the sound of the trains

On the wings of the wind

How can I say that I have sinned?

That I have sinned?

My palms are clean!

What could I say that I have seen?

How can I say I’ve seen the night?

The Endless Night?

My palms are white!

Where is the blood I say I’ve bled?

Where is the beast I say I’ve fled?

The things I’ve said!

The things I’ve seen

Are all in my head and my head’s in a dream.

When Juliek plays his violin

To the sound of the trains on the wings of the wind

With ivory hands- so pale! So thin…

How can I say that I have sinned?

Where is the burned and desolate land

I say I have held in the palm of my hand?

Where is the war I say I have fought?

A dream, a thought,

A prayer amid the wreck and rot.

That stretches the land to the pounding sea.

Who is it that’s taken my god from me?