my whole life i have been living a dream,

ideal, like the never seen morning dew on a flower

imperishable thoughts of the night, do birds hide in night woods in slumber? though they have no mouth nor tongue, and make not a moaning sound.

i do wield with my strong arm a bludgon, and in places where truth of Man fails. hammer by the right of its own might does the talk. and smash down it shall all the walls of lies in a song.

for truth in itself is proven by the execution of artful willpower. Why doubt what you can when it has already been done? and it is so done!

 truth is proven by a hammering against the whole universe and the entirety of mankind.
the woods and the sea have pulses! are they not from my beating the truth out of them like farmers do to ripened grains?

A hammering. For it is the hammer of judgement against all the clamouring voices in the underworld! when the day comes even death may die! and is not it too through MY hand and arm?

i will there to be morning dew on every dying flower. for I am foam of the sea. and when flower cries, churned out was me.