yes again I set foot on this arid land ,
my lyre broken and my lips dry,
after two thousand years, feels like an instant.
but I have grown old , like a man,
nobody knows me and certainly I don’t know the mankind
the silence of the years has inured me ,
the cracking of the world too intimidating.
But no, they don’t need my music.
my music, death, and my beloved Eurydice,
all belong to another era , even me ,
who could’ve rest in peace in allusions
of new religions, but no one knows music better
I’m proud to say, no one,
even though my calloused hands might tremble,
I can feel the divine notes running though my vein,
and my audience , once the titans, now peddlers
on a silent street ,
they and their prostitute companions, now my friends too,
they are good people, happy to hear my music,
and give me coins from time to time,
for love? for pity? I don’t care,
but I’m here, in this town where the shape
of existence eludes everyone,
a lot of merry-making, a lot of extravagant fun,
why not gather around me , and hear a different note then ,
for this fool is performing a song of ages old.