1. THE ORB

If the words fly away but the writings remain
Are we all that prone to the fear of forgetting?
Some of us try to keep safe every little thing we made
But delight seems to belong to those with short memory

Some say the four tigers devoured all men
The four winds swept them away
The four rains and waters overwhelmed them
And the four earthquakes will spell the end of our sun

Yet there are softer ways to disappear...

We’ll be done with sawing off the branch we are sitting on
Long before a black hole swallows the orb

Utterly devoid of any patience our species is getting ready for the great auto-da-fé
We are not that prone to the fear of destroying
But thanks to the erasure of memories we all find a way to grieve more serenely
For delight seems to belong to those with short memory

Happiness appears to belong to those with short memory

For delight seems to belong to those with short memory
We’ll be done with sawing off the branch we are sitting on
Long before a black hole swallows the orb

We’ll be done with sawing off the branch we are sitting on...
Sawing off the branch we are sitting on... we are sitting on...