May your words be worth your breath, so that your birth be worth your death. May warm love flow from your aim, but make those two things not the same. You wish to trod in the Eden of love, you'll stray if you're head is high above- do the math, and add up the sum: love will come by the path of wisdom. Wisdom is the road towards bliss, so as you journey, remember this: The only wisdom is to know when to hold on, and when to let go. The only virtue is this: be free. The only sin is misery.
What is this strange place to which I have awoken? The walls are white, the light is dark, everything is broken. What happened to my riches; my horses and my concubines? What treachery of witches sacked the morrow from these mines? I doubt that I am to discover the machine behind this portal; best I just forget, for life is lost on the immortal. I guess I’d be just as pleasant a peasant as I was a noble king- because I’m free, I probably could make my love from anything. So was the grand ambition but a fever-maddened dream? The measures of a man are as the shadow of the steam, rising from the heat upon a trickling desert stream.
Even as I breathe, I dance, for I have come upon by chance some young and living summer nights, who play under bright, shimmering lights. As all the planets pass me by, I wonder- was it them, or I keeping the earth in its position? Call it a ****** superstition, but I must point out how odd it feels to think that these eternal wheels would pick just any empty fools to mold into the vacuums tools before pulling the world away. I know to them I have no say, but if I did, I would explain that I am more than just a brain- I too am all the universe, so I wrote us this note of verse to thank us bravely, as a man, and say I'll help us where I can.
Somewhere far from the stars, I slept and dreamed a dream where I dug a hole in the sand, which fell as the pyramids wept- I dug too deep; Earth swallowed me whole. Some angels freed me from that prison in which I knew the hour or minute but a year had passed my vision and spun a world without me in it. Now as a spirit I'll sing to every soul who wishes to flea the waves of sorrow by sipping some cyanide from a bowl: Refuge which we take, we borrow from the children of tomorrow.