When you refuse the point of feeling
Isn't it wonderful?
You don't need to make a killing
Don't be a mummy, stiff and stressed, full
Of mechanical aspirations
Always looking much too far
You don't need to be the king of a nation
Just keep your dream of the men in Mars

Find the image in a paragraph
Of singing birds flying south
All the stars in your epitaph
A constellation close to your mouth
Cacti blowing by the sea
Beside a sunset that whispers and teems
Puce-coloured trees blowing freely
In a fuchsia sky with tangerine seams

The final name of this piece is sweet release
And you'll thank me here, old breeze
Slow your restless, twitching, maroon eyes
Slur all, let silence suffice
This is your last word written for tonight
You've earned your flight
So go easy
Dream well