Before we were known

The choir sang

The bells rang,

Out into an empty void

Loneliness became our friend,

The Lionheart of our dreams

Bore the weight of all things,

The wind whistles each day

Under a chiaroscuro sky

Under which we play,

Our futile and pointless games

Cause us to seek our real names,

Not the ones we were given

But the ones unknown,

Bestowed on us before

We were even skin or bone.