Music is to the soul
What flight is to the birds
And the first song I heard
Put wind beneath my wings

The knell of a bell
For death or for union
The hymn of the choir
In raptured communion
The song of a mother
At last she is lulled
Echoed forever
In the sea, in the gulls

And I hope she knows

every time I want to die,
And every time I want to live,
I sing

They kept me once in the dark
With all the things that fill it
And the only thing to still my heart
Was to lilt a wordless lyric

And even when they took that too
I taught my ghosts to hum
What's mine will never belong to you
My heartbeat's a drum

And I'll always know

Every time I want to die,
And every time I want to live,
I sing

Thank the birds, the bards, the sirens, the stars
Who sing when our voices aren't ours

Her Cycle turns, His clock ticks the hours
But this will not be the winter I follow the flowers
For I feel a familiar hymn rise in my throat
And I unwind the rope

For there's a reason to stand, a reason to dance,
A reason to rise, a reason to fly,
A reason to be, and this isn't my only
But it is when I forget the rest

And just like any starling

Every time I want to die,
And every time I want to live,
I sing
I sing
I sing


Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 2nd of Severin, in the year 18 AC.