reopening the gates of chance
i let stampede the horses of nonsense
and throwing open the shutters of fancy
i let fly free the birds of delight

and you say that i don't pay my servants
but i build their homes and feed their children
and teach them to fight and think
while you count out wages with two fingers

we dance to the tune of the wind
singing of old mother earth
and we dance to the sea's melody
singing of old father sun

in my coat are three blackbirds without names
and a scroll you have to fight me to read
hands for the wet cheeks of babes and arms for lifting the dead
twin pines for crossing the land which is my dominion


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