Ashamed I rise from the unholy ground,
To fly beyond the frontiers of sound,
I slowly sink into infinity
So I can rise again as poetry.
They fly so high that they touch the sky,
They are the ones who walk the Sun...
They make the clouds bring the rain
And let the Moon rise again.
My demons fly...
They hang there, on the vault of my soul,
As mellow fruits on branches of a tree,
I pick them up as words of blasphemy,
My demons turn them into poetry.
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