Praised be delusion, the ripple.
Praised be the Holy Ocean of eternity.
Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again.
Praised be the non-ending.
Praised be the lights of earth men.
Praised be the watchers.
Praised be my fellow men for dwelling in milk.
Praised be the embrace of soft sleep,
The valor of angels in valleys of hell on earth below.

Praised be delusion, the ripple.
Praised be the Holy Ocean of eternity.
Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again.

Praised be man, he is existing in milk,
And living in lilies.
And his violin music takes place in milk,
and creamy emptiness.
Praised be the unfolded inside petal flesh of tend' rest thought.
Petrels on the follying wave-valleys idly sing themselves asleep.

Praised be delusion, the ripple.
Praised be the Holy Ocean of eternity.
Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again.

Praised be wood, it is milk.
Praised be Honey at the Source.
Praised be the embrace of soft sleep,
The valor of angels in valleys of hell on earth below.
Praised be the non-ending.
Praised be the lights of earth-man.
Praised be the watchers.
Praised be my fellow man for dwelling in milk.

Praised be I, writing, dead already and dead again.