Cisum Si Esion

This is bad, I know.

Beneath a wonderful sea of Brahms,
I sit completely godless and astute,
somehow knowing the ecstasy of psalms, and
remembering beauty while enraptured by a flute.

You could cut off my tongue,
or tear out my eyes,
for that you, I would not despise.
All I've used them for is insolent speaking
and far, far too much selfish weeping.
My ears however, I desperately pray
will always remain untouched and to me true,
never falter, fall short, or lead me astray.

I need music, harmonic voices, and ugly
things too., 'cause sound is still so pure
in a world so desperately afflicted by remedies
for none of which there is a cure.