Lyrics Ferlinghetti Blues - Timoria

It is, it is the voice
Of the Fourth Person Singular
It is the voice
Within the voice of the turtle
It is the face
Behind the face of the race

Poetry is made of night thoughts
If it can tear itself away from illusion
It will not be disowned before the dawn
Poetry is made by evaporating
The liquid laughter of youth
Poetry is a book of light at night
Dispersing clouds of unknowing
It hears the whisper of elephants
And sees how many angels dance
On the head of a pin
And how many angels and devils dance
On the head of a phallus

It is a humming a keening
A laughing, a sighing at dawn
A wild soft laughter
It is the final gestalt
Of the immagination
Poetry should be emotion
Recollected in emotion