It's All in the Organ

Sadness dwells in the eternity of the salt

In forests deep, inside tunnels of tree trunks

That have seen religions thrive.

Sadness is not like a flash, or a noise

It’s not the exhilarating echo of thunder

Or an angel stroking harps.

It persists and sticks to walls

It is the dampness that lingers

Around buried precious stones

Waiting in the guts of mines.

Sadness is a fish’s remains

That the river never broke.

It smells wet

But might as well be the sun

That feeds the drought with its pride.

If happiness is the blood,

Ever-changing, flowing, rushing,

Then sadness must be the heart

The vessels of ruby rubber

The monstrous muscle that binds;

My path is to live with it

Or extirpate it and die.