I have become virtual I intended to be natural To remain natural. Having become choppy In the morning time Like a Chopin Ballade, I must return To the Death Mask Of Night. Rigidly I become sleep. I drown with the fishes. There is for me No more perfect a time. Me and the subconscious, Flat as boats on a tide, I sleep, whilst boating On the ride of time. There is nowhere More special, More Atlantic.