A splintered moon rises br Over the village of my ramblings br And a cold mist follows, a chilly blanket br Deep from the valley floor br An old dog howls left alone and outside br In the long distance a motorcycle answers br I shiver but do not cover myself br I need to be cold br The church bell tolls the late hour br And a woman calls her cat in br Across the quiet square. br The ghosts of Santa Ovaia br Will soon be meeting above the town br To plan their nocturnal activities br By the cemetery of roses br Suddenly the cat is called for more urgently br Away in the distance I can hear br The ringing goat bells br They are walking to the safety br Of their night haven br And under the still olive tree br To myself I hum br A song I don't know br Perhaps I should leave the shadows br Where I linger br For the warmth of my bed br And the sad comfort br Of my dreams.