Those dying lips, approval of this miserable world

those fleshy highfalutin' lines that sing for me

and the untouchable ones.



Send me in the globetrotter skies, don't hinder me

there shall I build my own dreams again.

Above clouded tombs and mourning ladies,

above your poor world of dispare Ascent...



The hemlock turns to hemp

and my heartburn into hellish headwind

yet, through my highness I try to hex

thou, thou world, thou dreams, thou nest,

thou clef before the keyhole to eternity...

...cloudburst our tears are as our mother's mitre dries under the

indomitable sun.