It's drizzling.
The time has turned
Into a furtive, soft,

Deadly whisper.

It's drizzling.

White bear feet of death
Are running across black,
Damp ground.


It's drizzling
On a fairy-tale marketplace.

There's my shadow
Hanging on a tree
Near a stall selling belief.


It's drizzling
And my naked shadow

Drenched with rain
Is swinging on a bare branch.
The night is long and blind.


It's drizzling.
The market place is quiet

And the belief-stall is dark.
I wish I didn't have to speak
I wish I didn't have to listen.

Feeling is a curse of perception.
The fairy-tale marketplace
Has covered its face

With both hands.

It's drizzling...