VI

Chorus
Where has your love led?
Where has your love gone?
We will look there.

Bride
My love has gone
to the city.
He feeds on chemicals,
machines, and buildings.

Groom
You are prettier
than night,
worse than
a thousand bombs.

Do not look at me.
I am conquered.

Your teeth,
your temples,
your hair.

You are mine.

Your gaze
is the sun
fair as the moon
clear as light
and more terrible
than a thousand bombs.

I will go to you city.
I am a missle of war.

Chorus
Return, return,
O Soloman;
return, return,
so we can see you.

What will we see?