The Wooden Cross - David Sylvian

Oh, to be not anyone

Gone this maze of being skin

Oh, to cry not any cry

So mournful that the dove just laughs the steadfast gasps

Oh, to owe not anyone

Nothing to be

Not here but here

Forsaking equatorial bliss

Who walked through the callow mist

Dressed in scraps

Who walked the curve of the world

Whose bone scraped, whose flesh unfurled

Who grieves not, anyone gone to greet lame

The inspired sky amazed to stumble

Where God’s get lost

Beneath the southern cross