Touch your skin to cold my child
Point your eyes toward the sun
And keep your finger in the blue flame
As did Ual and Ory, twins named Perception

Remembered as loss and victory
In a game where hierarchy has no place
Forget discomfort, take on one real sensation
Rearranging merely flour of the bread

Under lamp vapour, are streetlight smokers
And an exhaust pipe molten, blue suited super-ego
With unsensual sense, from irrational mess
Remains with face tightly puckered, a carbon based sucker.