A Dog from Andalusia with a High Fever

IsIsIsIsIsIsIsIsIsIsIsIs

Does that look like a razor to you?

Cut the shapes from marble like Michelangelo

I’ll be Orpheus

And I’ll play my savage lyre to the savage dogs of the woods

They call me the pious piper

Though who can say why

The only things that follow me

Are beasts of the night

And the alabaster crumbles when I stare

The marble Gods of Pergamon

Will slip from their battle with the giants

And leave Gaia to the earth

My lyrical ballad is deceitful

And they are leaving their shells

Werewerewerewerewerewere

Are you going, T.S. Eliot?

For the dead are buried

The sailors bones in the belly of the whale

Are lunging towards Ninevah

And they call me the pious piper

Though who can say why

My lyre plays so sweetly

Can you hear the Atman cry?

I’m searching for Shangri-la

Atlantis and Valhalla

My feet cascade through ancient villages

But my eyes stay straight ahead

I already learned my lesson

Once