Old Alpine Pang - Yellow Eyes

Barely heard

A moan drifts up

From a lower world

The scent of wet ice

Either a cattle farm

Great mundane pleas

From moonlit vats of mud

Some stirring of the blood

Old alpine pang

Old alpine pang

Or a crevice wail

Broken leg song

Lichen undernail

A life of skin

A blue so dark

He will go blind

A moan drifts up

Bile on the breath of spring

A silent swiss funicular

On unlit rails

Passes through dense wood smoothly

Crosses the meadow and finds me

Through a gap between

The molding and the pane