Are you my father, come to rescue me
from my disease of fake delights,
the bitter rue of wasted nights?
Are you the healer who will redeem me?
Why, when fireflies brave first flight,
do you sift dust and become twilight?
The web we have wrought, there is none higher.
I spin upon your strands, my lover.
Beloved, I stand beneath your cover,
and dance on the threads of your desire.
I need you to be my father, come rescue me.
You are the healer who will redeem me.