For The Captain

Relax, no song is written, nothing you thought of yourself. It's just a ghost that came unbidden to this house. This infection grows stronger every year. This seed inside the water of your tear, there is no escaping it. This seed blooming in the water of your tear the way an unborn baby's ear unfolds in your belly. This infection grows stronger every year, this direction of a tear rolling down your cheek, there is no escaping it. There is no escaping the thing that is making its home in your radio. 放松，没有歌曲是写，没有什么你想过自己。这只是一个幽灵来了不速之客这所房子。这种感染一年比一年强。这个种子你的泪水里面，没有人能逃脱它。这粒种子在你的泪水绽放未出生的宝宝的耳朵展现在你的腹部的方式。这种感染变得更加强大，每年眼泪滚下脸颊的这个方向，没有人能逃脱它。没有人能逃脱被使得其家中收音机的东西。

Bless this tiny alley. We have fallen. From tall buildings we have fallen. Bless the birth of him, the chapel he was killed in, all these tiny flowers. They have sat under the sidewalk. They have waited for the pieces of the summer sun to show us all that is your beauty and all that is your treasure. I could smell your skin beside me and say I hope I'm here forever, but, Captain, with your lovers, with your list of favorite pillows, with your favorite list of children, with the wall where you drew windows overlooking tiny gardens cut in two by jagged mountains (and the secret sacred sharing that went on beside the fountain where the water waits forever for a tiny, tiny treasure that would rise up and recover, that would leave this tiny alley) - when you meet me in the garden with your wings all dipped in cedar, all these spirits brushing past me brushing past me in the ether say, "All this is window dressing. All you are is flimsy curtains. You will flame up with a word from us, and won't know that you're burning." 祝福这个小胡同。我们已经倒下。从高楼，我们已经下降。祝福他的生日，他被杀害在教堂里，所有这些细小的花朵。他们在人行道下坐着。他们已经等了夏日阳光的作品向我们展示一切是你的美丽和一切就是你的财宝。我可以闻到你的皮肤在我的身边，说，我希望我在这里永远，可是，队长，你的情人，你最喜欢的枕头名单，与您最喜爱的孩子的名单，与墙，你画的窗户可以俯瞰花园的小切两个锯齿状山脉（那去哪里的水永远等待一个微小的，微小的宝藏，将站起来，并恢复喷泉旁的秘密神圣的共享，这将让这个小胡同） - 当你遇见我，在花园里用你的翅膀都浸泡在雪松，所有这些精神掠过我刷牙过去我在乙醚中说：“这一切都是门面，所有你是脆弱的窗帘，你将火焰与来自美国的一个词，而不会知道你燃烧“。