Sweet Irony,   hits my tangled troubles, and frees this   blade   from the stranding line   Cynically slides,   Through dusty gemstone,   To offer a soft respite to my ethereal   plagues.      Let me cover with silence,   The figures around me:   A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering.      Grow to a physical essence,   And heavily walk on this living mosaic   Called pain...   I can hear the breath of every dowel:   My demons are waiting...      Conceal this fool architecture   From my (singing) conviction.   Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads   And dethrone the useless days   From my infested eyes.   Irony, my care.