Playing in my skin such yearnings
Managing each step toward thistle,
And as you realize immense burden,
I recall your legs, thighs, breasts,
And leave behind old fears
What had been a poet, even a bard, Life made a dart
Killing that thought in vain recreations.
Denying the embezzlement where inside,
And having this figure as the center
From every thought you have,
Living deranged, so vain
Power in Praise Satan cry
For more than a foolish soul refrain ...