If you can imagine yourself
With the breathing palaces
And the tenebrous traces of dingy darkness
You have arrived in hell, rather than heav'n
Looks like heaven is make-believe
But, if you write about flowers, like the moors
They rise with the darkness of dusk, and the moonlight
Murky as the deep cenacles washed with erudition and seas
These reflections are getting better, but, as a typical person
I find that next one will lead me, to reach my favorite shores
This sort of choice doesn't come with longing, at the adventures
I admire the possibilities
And the probabilities
Mercy mercy me, what it is used to be
Dreary, but, like a dress that makes me happy
Heav'n or Hell, postmodernism is hell
We are just moving along with times, wondering what it will worship
All that matters is friendship and conviction in your dreams
Hold them close like helms, and set them free like sails
Zeus looks from stygian darkness, and purgatory