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Oh why was I born with a different face
Why was I not born like the rest of my race
When I look each one starts
When I speak, I offend
Then I’m silent and passive and lose every friend
Improvement makes straight roads
But the crooked roads without improvement
Are roads of genius
I went to the Garden of Love
And saw what I had never seen
A chapel was built in the midst
Where I used to play on the green
And the gates of this chapel were shut
And „Thou Shalt Not” writ over the door
So I turned to the Garden Of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore
And I saw it was filled with graves
And tombstones where flowers should be
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds
And binding with briars, my joys and desires
The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire
At the end of 6.000 years is true as I have heard from Hell
The whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy
Where as it now appears finite and corrupt
This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment
But the first notion that man has a body distinct from his soul is to be
expunged
This I shall do by printing in the infernal methods
By corrosives which in Hell are salutory and medicinal
Melting apparent surfaces away and displaying with infinite which is hid
If the doors of preception were cleansed
Everything would appear to man as it is… infinite
For man has closed himself up
Till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern
Why art thou silent and invisible
Father of jealousy
Why does thou hide thyself in clouds
From every searching eye
Why darkness and obscurity in all thy words and laws
That none dare eat the fruit but from thy wily serpent jaws
Is it because secrecy gains females loud applause
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