This is a sound, to see the invisible This is a partition, dictated by those who are hidden This is a frantic race, to keep pace This is a sound to hear the inaudible In the dark attic, the old man plays his viol again and again Continuing his violent trance, he bring his spirit to the top He tries to protect, protect himself from the dark He tries to save his skin, wrinkled like bark His arm numb, he sees it in his skylight The dark vortex, he knows it's for tonight His instrument falls to the ground Tired, he lets himself be taken, profound He lets himself be taken