'You bind me, and I tear away in a rage
to open out into air, a round
brightness, a candlepoint,
all reason, all love.
This confusing joy, your doing,
this hangover, your tender thorn.
You turn to look, I turn.
I'm not saying this right.'
How can we say something right when we do not know what are the words?
In a body that burns with unknowing I feel like wax waiting to dissolve.
There's no knowing which way the wind is blowing... ah, this uncertainty
lies on my skin like a stinging kiss.
I don't think I'm saying this right...I'm only a beautiful traitor