A cycle for baritone
Empty Chair
Who was my sister
Is now an empty chair
Is no longer,
Is no longer there
She is now emptiness
She is now air
2. Enchantment
If this were a story
I was telling my sister
A troll from the mountain
Would have stolen her
Or else a twisted magician
Turned her to stone
Or locked her in a tower
Or hidden her deep inside a golden flower
I would have to travel
West of the moon, east of the sun
To find the answer;
I’d speak the charm
And she’d be standing there
Alive and happy, come to no harm
But this is not a story.
Not that kind of story . . .
3. anger
Anger is red
The colour of spilled blood
He was all anger,
The man you tried to love
You opened the door
And death was standing there
Red death, red anger
Anger at you
For being so alive
And not destroyed by fear
What do you want? you said.
Red was the answer.
4. Dream
When I sleep you appear
I am a child then
And you are young and still my sister
And it is summer;
I don’t know the future,
Not in my dream
I’m going away, you tell me
On a long journey.
I have to go away.
No, stay, I call to you
As you grow smaller:
Stay here with me and play!
But suddenly I’m older
And it’s cold and moonless
And it is winter . . .
5. Bird Soul
If birds are human souls
What bird are you?
A spring bird with a joyful song?
A high flyer?
Are you an evening bird
Watching the moon
Singing Alone, Alone,
Singing Dead Too Soon?
Are you an owl,
Soft-feathered predator?
Are you hunting, restlessly hunting
The soul of your murderer?
I know you are not a bird,
Though I know you’ve flown
So far, so far away.
I need you to be somewhere . . .
6. lost
So many sisters lost
So many lost sisters
Over the years, thousands of years
So many sent away
Too soon into the night
By men who thought they had the right
Rage and hatred
Jealousy and fear
So many sisters killed
Over the years, thousands of years
Killed by fearful men
Who wanted to be taller
Over the years, thousands of years
So many sisters lost
So many tears . . .
7. Rage
I was too late,
Too late to save you.
I feel the rage and pain
In my own fingers,
In my own hands
I feel the red command
To kill the man who killed you:
That would be only fair:
Him stopped, him nevermore,
In fragments on the floor,
Him shattered.
Why should he still be here
And not you?
Is that what you wish me to do,
Ghost of my sister?
Or would you let him live?
Would you instead forgive?
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