Listening to Singing

A woman's voice, like the wind, it rushes

Nocturnal, moist and black

And as it flies, whatever it brushes

It changes and it won't change backIt's a diamond-shine, comes to bathe and bless

Things are draped in a silvery light

It rustles its suggestive dress

Woven of fantasy, silken and brightAnd the power that propels the enchanted voice

Displays such a hidden might

It's as if the grave were not ahead

It's as if the grave were not ahead

But mysterious stairs beginning their flightAnd the power that propels the enchanted voice

Displays such a hidden might

It's as if the grave were not ahead

It's as if the grave were not ahead

It's as if the grave were not ahead

But mysterious stairs beginning their flight