Christopher Hansard:[ where the voices are]

The smoke hangs heavy where the voices are,

the snow melts the soonest where the voices are,

quickly fly the swallows so far away where

the voices are,

the sea raging in its darkest foam,

the wind in quckest force is blown

these go to where the voices are

in the rabid scorn of human beasts

in the open hearts of human beings

in the evolving senses of human becomings

all go to where the voices are

on the salty marsh and chill mountain pass

where all the roads that lead

to a throbbing modern Rome

in the end

all go to where the voices are

the voices are

the voices are

the voices are