Spring time in the smoke

All the sexless numbskulls are trying to trip me up
In the forests of the evening and at the hour of the dusk
The candles they are leaning through the shadows of the tusk
And swallows tell their meaning in the narrows of the musk
Between the roof tops and the ceiling
Where they are all layed up
I think therefore I migrate,
I'm an immigrant of the brain
There are only seasons in the neural networks of the south
And the river flows with the blood of change
From its source right to its mouth
So silent, cold and unchanged
beneath the Danube rolls untouched

Can you clear a heart hole
Let the gold flow in its space
But no its full of pennies
And your heart strings are tied in knots
Nothing plays on the harp, the lute
The dulcet tones are strangely strained
And its all on waiting for the winter throes
Out in the fields of rain