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This will allow you to listen with enjoyment to the Siren’s voices.' He knew this, the philosopher forewarned with knowledge But he wished to flee the customs that bound him to this world 'Men are born free but end up in chains' Rousseau reminds him to hear the Siren’s song unconstrained free will, this illusion of choice If only the gods guided him, wisdom in their voice Such was the man’s desire - his arrogance, his leisure that his mind wandered to thoughts of pleasure as the distant rhythmic chanting over restless dark sea captures his mind 'She is calling to me' He stands upon the edge of his logical construction looks across the dark sea smiles briefly, bravely to himself takes a deep breath, closes his eyes dives down deep deep into the dark shifting faces they reach for him, pulling him down down deep in desperate writhing darkness.

He lies still, on soft sand beach restless waves, hungry waves bite and lick the sensual shore in darkness he gazes at the world above A billion stars scattered shimmering in dark space 'I know you' he cries 'I understand what you are, that we are one, connected by waves.' 'You are my friends, my certainty, my guiding lights as I journey upon this strange sea of doubt and many faces.' 'You are my friends, hear me.' 'You are my friends' He repeats, he demands, but there is no answer He is alone All is One His thoughts, lost in space, sense the beat the rhythmic chanting heat the heatness of cicadas. I shall take no blame for your weakness and lust.' Her words shock and disturb him.

There is no homecoming for the man who draws near them unawares and hears the Siren’s voices; no welcome from his wife, no little children brightening at their fathers return.

For with their high clear song the Sirens bewitch him, as they sit there in a meadow piled high with the moldering skeletons of men, whose withered skin still hangs upon their bones.' 'If you wish to listen yourself, make them bind you hand and foot, with the rope’s ends lashed to the mast itself.

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Her hand instinctively touches him, she speaks, her soft voice intrudes, and briefly overwhelms the rhythm, the cicadas. You know yourself no more than a child, so enjoy your pleasures as you find them, without doubt and concern, for I am a woman, and it is in your nature to lust for me.' The man watches her as she speaks, captivated by the alluring charm of simple logic, of warm red wine, of reasoned words provoking him.

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