The song that the wolves danced to  


Sweet mangoes hanging from a tree,

Tender juice dripping to the leaves,

Bouncing off away from the breeze,

While the church bells brought men to their knees.

Sing to me a melancholy tune,

As we sit around a campfire,

While the hollering wolves dance around and raise hellfire,

Waking the tormented souls from their graves,

Who had been banished from hell and heaven,

And must now live in rotten corpses,

Made of flesh and bones,

Fleeing these wolves,

Forging flames with steps and stones.

Sing to me,

Then maybe I’ll dance along with them,

And as I dance,

I’d climb their tree so that I could grab the fruit,        

And I’d cut the fruit in half,

So that I could share it with you.

There you will find the seeds of love,

And I hold the purest form of love,

So if my love isn’t enough,

Then love isn’t enough,

And if love isn’t enough,

Then what is?​​​​

If I dance, I will make the sky cry,

Causing the wolves to flee away from its tears,

Then we can watch the raven fly,

Before it comes back from letting the branches grow,

When there will be no more fire to burn out,

When the clouds had run out of God’s tears.

So do dare me to dance along with them,

My dance could make their tender fruits fall,

We could savor their fruits and stay in love forever,

Either way when we wake up, we will still be shepherds.

Reach out your hands and drink the tender juice,

Savor the truth,

Shower in the fountain of youth,

Soothing peace to your tormented soul.    

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