What's The Furthest Corner? Because That's Where

We're All Like The Little Sailor. From The Harbors We Hear The Strains Of Accordions And The Murky Soapy Noises Of The Docks, From The Mountains We Receive The Dish Of Silence That The Shepherds Eat, But We Don't Hear More Than Our Own Distances. And What Distances Without End And Without Doors And Without Mountains!

The Snow Is Falling On The Deserted Field Of My Life, And My Hopes, Which Roam Far, Are Afraid Of Becoming Frozen Or Lost.

Little Black Horse. Where Are You Taking Your Dead Rider?

Moon Like A Large Stainedglass Window That Breaks On The Ocean.

But Hurry, Let's Entwine Ourselves As One, Our Mouth Broken, Our Soul Bitten By Love, So Time Discovers Us Safely Destroyed.