Sin? What is sin to the eyes of love?
When life is fluent, when hearts move
Together, closer, then can there be sin?
There can be no evil, but that the mind
That searches for it makes it so.
In the days of winter, still heat can grow.
Lets build a fire, a bivouac of wood and coal,
And from that darkness, that esoteric substance,
A light will bring life to us both.
In the grey of evening, when the hours
Wearily slump towards their end,
In the comfort of a home
We fall into each others bodies
A statuesque embrace,
And pick out the sculpture
That the flames make of skeletal coal.
We are like scarecrows and limestone caverns
It matters not from what porous stuff
We are made. It matters not what surface
We display. What matters is what we make,
This feeling like no other
That wraps us up by the fire.