They pull wings from soaring angels

Forging truths in fallen fables

They combine a crumbling man

and piece him bravely in the sand


They use fire in a forest

Burning fortune in a chorus

Wringing shadows, split and steam

Seep like oil in their streams

Rushing nearly to the teem


Cicada sings and still remains

Sleeping kindly-laughing plain

Cicada sings and I abstain

The little dove in the rain

When it rains


They work men until they're dying

Breeding babies, bald and crying

Young and smiling, young and free

They're as simple as they'll be


They kill kings while they're still dreaming

Cutting sound while you're still screaming

They'll make a bad boy out of me

What they make is what you see


Cicada sings and still remains

Sleeping kindly-laughing plain

Cicada sings and I abstain

The little dove in the rain

When it rains