Bargain

What is your currency, my friend?

What is there in your pocket? 

 What is there in your reason?

On the sands of some shore,

I lay this body

singing a song of a friend like you,

with a pocket like yours, 

and a reason too.

On the sands of that smiling  shore 

and on the lawns of the olive grove

 I raised my palace

and received my Friends 

and all is mine now. 

I do not mind. 

Not a thing seems more important than the other,

in this world, the Captain Fuss,

no need to fuss over nothing.

This body ached easily,

but it was still kind of vigorous,

you see.

People wait and speculate,

but she, so far away from the shore

and from the lawns of the olive grove,

senses the presence of that Stalker,

that Dry One.

But still, she doesn't mind.

Somebody's here,

silently he’s sitting on this table

what does he want from me? 

Nothing's been left,

Nothing to be,

Nothing I am,

I am.

He used to be some powerful, 

he used to be a vampire,

but no longer.

Tears are not mine, the labour neither…

I have a brother who's afraid,

and regretful, and I feel for him,

and you feel for her,

For love, I bargain.

The singing bird is doubly blessed — and triply so.

One blessing for its song,

another for singing in the wilderness.

The third is oblivion.

And the boy weeps —

an auspicious sign.