"This is a song for those who are not nourished by modern love"

I stopped to listen, but he did not come. I began again with a sense of loss. As this sense deepened, I heard him again. I stopped stopping and I stopped starting, and I allowed myself to be crushed by ignorance. This was a strategy, and didn't work at all. Much time, years were wasted in such a minor mode. I bargain now. I offer buttons for his love. I beg for mercy. Slowly he yields. Haltingly he moves toward his throne. Reluctantly the angels grant to one another permission to sing. In a transition so delicate it cannot be marked, the court is established on beams of golden symmetry, and once again I am a singer in the lower choirs, born fifty years ago to raise my voice this high, and no higher. . ISSO EH TAO BONITO, TAO BONITO, TAO BONITO, QUE NAO TENHO PUDORES EM CONFESSAR QUE CAIBO PERFEITAMENTE NO QUE LEIO.