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a.
One note before the next, the old dissembler lurks
as stubborn as the wind. Someone else is singing.
Lines drawn like horizons alone in the desert,
massed notes sound together this entire century,
but what else can one say? “Fame is a cunning bondage?
No lines run parallel? Go into the mountains?”b.
One note before the next, go into the mountains.
As stubborn as the wind, the old dissembler lurks.
Lines drawn like horizons, fame is a cunning bondage.
Massed notes sound together. Someone else is singing.
But what else can one say? This entire century,
no lines run parallel alone in the desert.c.
One note before the next alone in the desert
as stubborn as the wind, go into the mountains.
Lines drawn like horizons, this entire century
massed notes sound together. The old dissembler lurks.
But what else can one say? “Someone else is singing.
No lines run parallel. Fame is a cunning bondage.”d.
One note before the next--fame is a cunning bondage
as stubborn as the wind. Alone in the desert,
lines drawn like horizons. Someone else is singing.
Massed notes sound together: go into the mountains.
But what else can one say? The old dissembler lurks.
No lines run parallel this entire century.e.
One note before the next, this entire century.
As stubborn as the wind, fame is a cunning bondage.
Lines drawn like horizons, the old dissembler lurks.
Massed notes sound together alone in the desert.
But what else can one say? “Go into the mountains?
No lines run parallel? Someone else is singing?”f.
One note before the next, someone else is singing
as stubborn as the wind, this entire century.
Lines drawn like horizons. Go into the mountains.
Massed notes sound together. Fame is a cunning bondage.
But what else can one say alone in the desert?
No lines run parallel. The old dissembler lurks.g.
The old dissembler lurks. Someone else is singing
alone in the desert. This entire century,
fame is cunning bondage. Go into the mountains.
