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.
A vast radiant beach in a cool jeweled moon,
Couples naked race down by it's quiet side,
And we laugh like soft, mad children,
Smug 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 swarming wisdom of the streets.
The barns have stormed,
The windows kept,
And only one of all the rest
To dance and save us
From the divine mockery of words,
Music inflames temperament.
Ooh, great creator of being
Grant us one more hour
To perform our art
And perfect our lives.
We need great golden copulations.
When the true kings murderers
Are allowed to roam free,
A thousand magicians arise in the land.
Where are the feast we are promised?
