At midnight, in the month of aPRIL,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
The meth shoots out of my lungs
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And softly dripping, drop by drop,
From all the valium that she took.
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Her creaked, and moaning voice.
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
Ready for her to die.
The lily lolls upon the wave;
I say goodbye.
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
Just a little bit more meth.
The ruin moulders into rest;
I'll see you on the other side ..

Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps and lo' where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!