Oíche

Midst of the vast ocean,

Not a end but a beginning;

Until the bright day,

I'll hold the cup of bitterness and hatred...

They say again and again we must rise;

We cannot walk alone,

We cannot turn back,

Because we are never satisfied?

Creative suffering;

Difficulties and frustrations of the moment but I still have my dream;

Beautiful symphony,

But no point was made of this...

I doubt not of these attentions it has enjoyed a vogue, denied to less daring rivals?

Mysterious origin,

Shadowy realm,

And the mystery surrounds again...

Not either of the deepest red;

The reason is to be found,

Stripped to its trappings,

The unfeeling world,

Consequences are inevitable,

Merely a question of taste and with that I have here no concern...

It was, Oíche I do not doubt...