You are the source 
The flow 
The sleeplessness 
The transcendence 
And I don't mind 
If you have feet of clay 
For how else 
Would I walk with you 

The land of Provence 
Is modern with motorways 
But it is this soaring 
Out of reach 
Which is the secret of 
La Domna Sosebuda 

Seventeen years it took 
To see you clearly 
Amid the sweltering heat 
The mirages of flesh and spirit 
Seventeen years 
My Cathar sister 
With the green dressing-gown 
And all the colours of the spectrum