i. I. II. III. III.a IV.

<system shut down to re-stabilize>

↓↓↓

Lone Ukulelist in Lilac Black:

Sharp, sharp,

Must it be sharp?

Sharp the dividing will be.

Yet still, still,

Still is my harp,

Still are her cords and string.

(For with stammering lips

And a far-off tongue

Does her windblown body sing.)

Who makes the depths to tremble?

Who troubles the times?

For where there were flowers and ferns

And rushes, there now is dust and rime.

And burning instead of beauty.

[difficult to discern:]

…blizzardoom… …dezzerdbloom…

…a lunglyness refeeling (shape) [pause]

(…but what about the middle times?...) [hiccups]

(…we say, we sigh, we sting, we stain…)

let harpy an’ hearth misclose her flud

(as pyurr as the blud uf the grape)

and sing:

red silt, red silt,

red silt, uncover your slain.

-

(pssssst –

we could actually

use the coordinates

of the in-swirl

or the period

of the loops

to calculate the end

if only we knew

where it all began

or at what position

we started up –)