Tell a wise person, or else keep silent, because the mass man will mock it right away. I praise what is truly alive, what longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of the love-nights, where you were begotten, where you have begotten, a strange feeling comes over you, when you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness, and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.

Distance does not make you falter. Now, arriving in magic, flying, and finally, insane for the light, you are the butterfly and you are gone. And so long as you haven't experienced this: to die and so to grow, you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.

The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind happiness not always being so very much fun if you don't mind a touch of hell now and then just when everything is fine because even in heaven they don't sing all the time

The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind some people dying all the time or maybe only starving some of the time which isn't half bad if it isn't you

Oh the world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't much mind a few dead minds in the higher places or a bomb or two now and then in your upturned faces or such other improprieties as our Name Brand society is prey to with its men of distinction and its men of extinction and its priests and other patrolmen

and its various segregations and congressional investigations and other constipations that our fool flesh is heir to

Yes the world is the best place of all for a lot of such things as making the fun scene and making the love scene and making the sad scene and singing low songs and having inspirations and walking around looking at everything and smelling flowers and goosing statues and even thinking and kissing people and making babies and wearing pants and waving hats and dancing and going swimming in rivers on picnics in the middle of the summer and just generally 'living it up' Yes but then right in the middle of it comes the smiling mortician

I am walking down the old corridors again, All around me I hear opening and shutting doors Till I come to B 323 and sit on my old bed. So many dreams I dreamt here, the days past echo With laughter, so much mad laughter. What jokes Did we tell, that we are still crying after all these years?

Below that dorm room, I run across the yard, Mud between my naked toes, it raining and all around me The yells of soccer players I don’t see. In the distance Train whistles, as the clacking wheels bear me away. On the steel road, stations are arriving and departing around each curve, so many that it seems as if I am traveling round and round in a circle, going over the same old ground.

Through the corner of my eye, if I want I can still those names, But it’s easier this way, to keep on going, to keep going away!