Rebellion came naturally to a son of Korach.
You have too much, too many rules, too
Many people, too much, I accused the world.
True, I composed glorious things for Zion,
But the end of all praise is lamentation. I am
Counted among those who descended,
Katabatic, in the mad hope of bringing
Back a soul. I became a voice without help,
Without strength, crying out from the grave
I dug to lie down in but could not stand: You!
World! You would have me be still, will have me
Still, will swallow me in my long fall. I am not
A son you would care to remember. I am not
The one you will recall. My words will sing
In someone else’s voice at their moment
Of dying, someone capable of resurrection,
In the line of your direct descent. I am free
Only as you will release me among the dead
And do not make me come back. I am free
Only insofar as you will let me lie quietly,
Let your wrath and your terrors pass over me
In the dirt of your forgetfulness, my dreams
Of friends and lovers kept far from me in the dark.
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