From this autumn full of meaning
I will pass carrying a hidden wound
Burned by spilled tears
A punishment taken without cause.

The piano was hiding me among the flaps
I was hiding in the song of pan-pipes
I was an emigrant to the gates of Heaven
Hoping that you are somewhere near.

Now it is obvious that I can’t
Answer myself how
I bounded upon you on the road
You held me fast by shouting my name.