The long bright day enters into the black night.
There is a cold funeral
with crooked and distorted faces
the mourners squelch through the ooze.
Decay is the pilgrim.
The oily black stallions canter past.
It is point - to point.
I also hold the reins
Who pulls them?
A lone boat
is voyaging in the panting muddy water.
The rudder is not visible
Man has to tighten the string
use the plectrum