A day, a day, a day wandering along Confounded Lane,

                            O o o a day, a day, a day’s all pain, especially on Confounded Lane.

                                   Today, today, today along Confounded Lane, a parade.

                                                               A parade? A parade!

                                     Oblivion fronts the marching band, the pain is fade O o o.

                   The leaves fall up as they’re passed by the parade, the parade, the parade.

                                                            -Eve’s song leaving Eden

Sing, miserable whippoorwill, she and I in this café, late!

Her at the table behind me, the locale long vacated by the living.

The Edendee, the living-as-unfallen that fixate on the day and not on fate,

Consigned, thoughtless to their role in destiny, thus hopeful

Destiny and they synonymously act; they claim it so, but o o o (as the song goes).

They are leaves all the same. They may not be the leaves fallen from trees

That lay upon the streets and bask at where they used to be,

Reliving the declension of existence-

            they may be the leaves that drift in lakes,

            clog the puddles, carried off in streams

            to dissolution where Nature eats them new,

            Lethe’s nereids, contended memoryless,

            that feel no cuts in spring where the flowers rip

            through earth and flowers bloom in screams,

            no, they feel spring as spring feels spring,

            they are bees that love the nectar of their souls.

Her and I are benight of all but song

And the wise recall of incarnations.

Here within this empty well we have the full concord of Time.

Phantasms spangled by the glass morphing light to ghosts of the evictees of Eden.

The lights caught in the water, cried in

Condensation, descending to the tables

And the busted platters where the surfaces are silver, and the mirrors

Where the figures use the darkness as a ballroom, twisting

In accordance to the song, the garden of the wretched in the moonlight,

Confounded Lane,

Twirling in a closed café where I and Posey sing away.