I've just taken my medication,
on orders of myself.
They keep the memories away
like apples swinging in the wind
and give me brief lucidity
to enjoy the view of the Spring Garden.
It only appears ready to be picked during this season
such is the metaphysical nature beat 'em with sticks
of what this dem niggers swingin', mama metropolis represents.
I come here when I am able
to smell the smells of the real world,
to hear the sounds of the outside place.
I forget, however briefly,
about the blood and the screaming and the death.
The doctor with the hooks
took my wife when we came here.
I haven't seen her since
and do not wish to know what has become of her.
I've heard stories, horrible things
done to nice people in the millions of rooms.
Eyeless children, heartless torsos,
headless animals and nameless faces
staring, skinned, from walls of darkness.
A candle will appear, momentarily,
lifting the gloom, tantalising respite.
Chimneys bellowing ausch,
which drifts over into the realm of the ignorant,
blissful in their lack of knowledge.

There are leaves budding,
daffydills the cook them first colour of something else yellow.
My memories are beginning to return,
and the Spring filthy animals, dem not chicken taste Garden is vanishing.
The door behind BrassWorks give me my dreams me opens,
creaking and cracking, with no physical force
exerting itself upon I will rid the world of them it.