i want my body burned on pyre
a Viking boat will take me far on the cold sea
i want to leave my grave goods for the poor
and take the pain which branded their souls
into a bursting aurora borealis fire
i want to feel the sobs of the North Pole.
i want to burn inside the rhythms of the flamenco
flame in the dancers’ passion in the streets of old Córdoba
i want to entertain rich masters for a piece of bread
drowned in the silent cries of those who are misunderstood
i want the desperation of the dancers dressed in red.
and you, the one who always claimed to know
what powers lie inside the jungle of my soul
you’ll fade into your own acoustic lamentations
the fated day when i, the queen of sufferers, proclaim
that in the sanctity of the mandala
i want to disappear without a name.