Apocalypse.To be blue funk,cock crow's conquest,that maketh a norm of the living earnmorning sail and Triumphant hills far away refrain,Lo! in the cosmopolitan junkets,when gracious palms alight with its booverboots,Burning under wiseacr'd physiogonomy,not creas'd,Doth homage paysto the seer of the apocalypse,Notgrand amputee of the apocalypse,that karma bone's infection canst not salve,O timely apocalypse saveth thee adophobia,the cleft of time's fury and the intergrity of time, Of the fainthearted simpletons,servile in their inglorious majesty,Melifluous cymbals dainty tohear and harmony to dance its tympanum balls,And owlish eyes withits goblet,not motheaten,clamouring triumphant hills,Plays the apalling chess into thy salvation trottle,Let it be shown thee its shovels with the wreckages of times in its adorn, Like contagious eyes,they frittered away,tentacles of glorious herald,Its hideous pilgrimage the fainthearted loungelizard,indifferent to vanishing point plows,Let in apocalypse of the old greybeard