21 September 2012
There's a little thatched cottage, In the southern part of Spain, Where the skies are always brighter, And there's never any rain.
In the little ivy courtyard, Is a fountain made of sin, Where the people whisper secrets, And the water listens in.
In the silver stream of moonlight, Comes a tear upon the eye, Of the one who whispers secrets, To this auditory spy.
Every word is drunk with passion, Every sentence, as a pearl, And the secrets spark to blazing, As the fountain tells the world.
Secrecy Springs • Opuss № I