Your eyes are liquid, cloudland of dark.
You’re the splinter of the timeless universal.
The lion of mine feels the vital spark,
Mystic ways. He is a forceful sort of person.

While awaking from a dream I see
Hollow outstretch which takes off all hellhounds.
Made of nothing violent galaxy
Groans with deep, deadish, dismal sounds.

Here is the hill, the barrow of mine.
And my ashes re-create new time.
There’s my heavenly barrow on cloud nine.
I’ve come back from there with my lion!

I drive my dreams and night-spells through this darkness,
So wood spirits used to bear squirrels.
These are my dreams, and the rest is silence...
And a stream of lava of sun tears.

Here is the hill, the barrow of mine.
And my ashes re-create new time.
There’s my heavenly barrow on cloud nine.
I’ve come back from there with my lion!