The singing blade cuts all directions;
no honest man asks to be spared.
Some take heart and listen.
The rest dance though do not hear.

November 1st came in early April.
By the 30th a blue moon shone.
Can you tell the moon from it's reflection?
Can you dance by moonlight alone?

How the saints and sinners wrestle
Some like children some like fighting dogs.
How can I come between them;
cut free without spilling blood?

The singing blade reflects the moonlight
Pale blue and bright, like Krishna's skin.
I love it like a child it's mother
like a tortured man loves the end!