Awake.
Shake dreams from your hair
My pretty child, my sweet one.
Choose the day and choose the sign of your day
The day's divinity
First thing you see.
Couples naked race down by it's quiet side
And we laugh like soft, mad children
Snug in the wooly cotton brains of infancy
The music and voices are all around us. Choose they croon the Ancient Ones
The time has come again
Choose now, they croon
Beneath the moon
Beside an ancient lake Enter again the sweet forest
Enter the hot dream
Come with us
Everything is broken up and dances. Indians scattered on dawn's highway, bleeding.
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind. We have assembled inside this ancient and insane theater to propagate our lust for life and flee the swarm of wisdom's restraints. The barns are stormed, the windows kept.
And only one of all the rest to dance and save us from the divine mockery of words.
Music inflames temperment. Oh, great Creater of being, grant us one more hour to perform our art and to perfect our lies.
We need great, golden copulations. When the true King's murderers are allowed to roam free
A thousand magicians arise in the land. Where are the feasts we are promised?
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