The Ruins Of The Tower Of Babel

When I'm alone, I'll fall into Antique Italian dreams, among Thoughts made of marble, tears of paint And ghosts mouthing rhymes In churches built of human blood I'll listen to God's harmony And when I return, I'll tell Everyone of my secret life Who would really comprehend my words Who would try to understand Who I really am For now, I'd better hold my tongue And work on some new cryptic lines While German songs and Indian chants Try hard to overcome the noise We all belong to it now, and to The unbridled Irish wind A frenzied oracle of hope that Speaks in tongues and we can't see Who would really comprehend his words Who would try to understand Who he really is Who would really comprehend our words Who would try to understand Who we really are A floating world would be enough For me to face a sudden change Although my poor, chaotic talk Would force me to lie ceaselessly Concealed behind the shadows Of countless Japanese identities I'd greet the darkness, kneel And, lastly, enjoy my solitude