Yes, this was once the garden of delights, enchanted, divine,
but Lilith took flight knowing what would ensue
and now it's ours to deal with, left to undo.
Then take me, my friend, as I first took you,
that we might sleep at last.
Yes, yes, oceans devour and are devoured
and therein a form of composure,
an 'ah well' wherein all is well,
and therein also a closure.
Oh, but then the fool falls from his perch
and farts in the face of propriety.
Plus de thé, pasteur?

Copyright: ROUGH TRADE PUBLISHING
Writer(s): Penny Rimbaud