Where do the departed poets live?
Where the sleeping whales are.
Meanings are more important than objects,
And do not stick to the fears of heights
And the depths of the gray ocean -
It's all rhymes, rhymes without end,
And POPs up the Word OCEANO,
A Reflection Of The One Creator.
Songs, those that were not dopet,
They sound polyphonic...
There are no former poets,
Even if they go to hell.