Mere harps are wringing and voices are chanting, br Forever I stare at silence through the eyes of tears. br Silence is a sale of devices, br The very beautiful sides to our abilities. br Tears are made to weep, br And tears bleed from the face like a wound. br Ten minutes of weeping is in our day br Followed by a clumsy voice from my mother br Saying how might I develop the music of my living.