Check your temperature
If you get an early flu,
For the teller of your fate
Might have thought of
A secret vitality.

The sperm whales of The Blue Trench
Have been taking an odd course lately.
In their wombs,
They`ve been carrying
Killer whales` babies
Conceived in the immaculate waters
Of deceptive perception,
Where the song of the siren
Can ruin a man
In a single note.
After all, deception begins with a note.
A high-pitch note,
A low-pitch note,
A note to oneself.

It could be
The sign of a wicked crab
Lucidly dreaming of
The Sun you were born under.
He would maybe reach up and
Burn his body of oracle bones
In a suicidal attempt to
Transcend into nothing
And resurrect into a sea lion.

A whole lot of time can pass
Before you hear the song of the siren.
But once you suddenly do,
You can bet your soul
It’s the sunrise that will
Burn you like fever. Both,
An ever-lasting seduction to hell and
An eternal ascension to heaven.
The Great Route to Neitherwhere.


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