The music of the universe is silent,
You walk into the stars as you direct
Actions and endeavours that astound.
I have to find him there, walking in space,
Licking the bowl with my fingers in taste.
Little is lost in space, watching puddles,
Waiting for the right moment to talk;
I have to be in a well of the lowest mire
That I admire, and I ask for the gesture
Of a rock always acting like a sock.
The musical men are drifting in space,
Leaning on their staffs like little children;
Lulling the plains with minds at ease,
Fitting their stars like a well-loved garment,
Innocent men are to be deserted if in task.
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