Crystal Waves Video (MV)

I propose, with a steady voice, to declaim in loudest tones the cold and sober offering
You are about to hear. Pay heed to what it contains, and beware of the painful impact
It will not fail to leave like a blight on your disordered imaginations. Do not believe I am
On the verge of death (eventhough I might very well be), for I am not yet a skeleton,
And old age cleaves not to my brow (and yet it starts taking the role of an unwanted
Companion). Now we consequently wave aside any idea of comparison with the swan
Of golden origin at the moment when its life flies off, and before you behold a mere
Monstrosity whose face I am glad you cannot see (but the face is less horrible than the
Spirit). Not long ago I saw the sea again and trod the decks of ships, and my memories
Are as fresh as if I'd left the sea only yesterday. Nevertheless, if you can, on listening to
What I already regret offering you, be as calm as I, and do not blush at the thought of
What the human heart is.

Spirit of the silken glance! Your soul is inseparable from mine most handsome inhabitant
Of the sphere that you call yours. In you are nobly enthroned, by common consent and
Perennial bond, the sweet virtue of grace and divine communion.
Why are you not with me...? Your quicksilver belly against my breast of aluminum, both
Of us seated on some rock by the shore, to meditate upon this spectacle I adore...

Old Ocean, with your Crystal Waves you resemble the icy pale lines an unfortunate soul
Might be given a swift distorted glimpse upon, after having spent hours, days and months
At the mercy (if one wants to call it so) of their torturer.
You are a colossal azure bruise slapped on the body of earth. At first sight of you, a long-
Drawnout sigh of sadness that one might believe to be the murmur of your mellow
Breeze passes over the deeply disturbed esprit, leaving harrowing scars for the ages,
And you remind your lovers (though they don't always bear it in mind) of man's crude
Origins, when he became acquainted with the sorrow that is never to desert him.
Your harmoniously spherical form that rejoices the grave face of geometry reminds
Me overmuch of man's tiny eyes - akin to the peccary's in minuteness and to those of
The nightbirds in their circular perfection of contour.
Yet down the ages man has deemed himself beautiful, oh so ignorant of his excruciating
Peradventure, so adversarial towards that ravishing divineness of yours.

Old Ocean, you are the symbol of identity: always equal unto yourself. In essence, you
Never change, even with waves in a deuce of a stir somewhere, farther off you're in
Absolute and complete tranquility. You are not like man - who stops in the streets with
Delight to watch two deadbeats tearing each other apart, but does not stop when a
Funeral passes, who does not bat an eyelash in the finite face of extinction.
Man who in the morning is affable and in the evening ill-humoured. Who laughs today
And weeps tomorrow. Who loves today and hates tomorrow."