What it’s like; you do not know
How it is to live, and grow
Net this Mother-Earth with stars.
Let his heart race-on pulsars...
The moons alumina blossom…
Shall strike its caste: form from gypsum;
Thy daughters of the satellites
Thy sons emit of dendrites.
A brim filled whoredom!
Of bile and endless laughter
Joins us in the ever after…
Just: Another growth less symptom
What we now know as our kingdom.
