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John Greaves
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The Song
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
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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
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