The Song - John Greaves

Town in the shadow of a mountain

Crown of the mountain came avalanching down

All summer long

We are stalking what

We came to call the Song

The Song was a kind of eruption

Mover of mountains, avalanche of crowns

When we were young

We sought the laws

We thought would cause the Song

Life is a dream

We are phantoms

Man is the union

Of divinity and dust

All summer long

When we were young

Before we’d sung the Song

No mere machine made of music

Of words and music as other songs are

This was the Song

A recipe, a remedy, a cure

The Song would be sung on the border

Sung by us standing, straddling the line

Between two worlds

Unified only by the Song