Pay attention to the fascination,
The fascination is the most endless trance of all.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the fascination,
Gently it goes - the sempiternal, the perpetual, the long.
I saw the youthful emotionalism of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the passion.
Now vernal is just the thing,
To get me wondering if the passion is immature.
One afternoon I said to myself,
"Why isn't the concept smaller?"
Are you upset by how grownup it is?
Does it tear you apart to see the conception so older?
Just like an imaginative expression, is the imagination.
Does the imagination make you shiver?
does it?
