Counting the red stars, plum-colored ones too –
Wishing they’d all fall out of the sky like a rainstorm.
Can’t seem to get life to fit together properly.
Always blamed for taking the wrong form.
No matter how much glue is pasted on,
The pieces won’t stick – is all hope gone – for you?
Sylvia – Oh, Sylvia,
That raven-tamer with his blackbird cunning –