this’s for sure, never we’re, to be alone
when recedes the pleasure, there cometh the fissure

as the day rises, so do the dreams
to find some steam, only to wither and to scream

turn the page over, to amuse and to deride
may the din die, may the promise survive

run the tenth errand, pull back the forsaken illusion
as juggle is the game, to hold still is but a crime

the idyll of the farm, the sip of the stream
lay dormant instead, like the pup without a cup

tie in the brewing wind, lest it turn mad and wild,
O abandon the fervent pleas, for we are timid and frigid

sneak in the dark, for a cover and a lover
where in lies indeed, the swiftest way of coming into one

train the body, drain the mind
mend the clutter, surrender thy ponder