Convert my dreams to ashes and perform
My funeral rites.
Think it not too much expense of energy dear father,
All this to keep me worthy of your sky
That I may rise from my grave? I turn
And suffer from insomnia.
I have not always agreed with you,
With your great light, your thundering voice
You threw me in shadow, you stole my music,
I played my guitar
And heard my semi-breve’s whimper
Like dotted hemidemisemi-quavers
In the rotundness of your presence.
I tried so hard to salve the stabs
On your tender heart and ended up
Causing more with my blunt knife.
Father you have now woken up to exact revenge
On your negative Elektra,
Can’t you see I have put down my weapons?
Oh, I forgot, I had gouged out your eyes.