i to sleep the apples,

  to umult of cemetries.

  i to sleep t child

  o cut on the high seas.

  i dont to t lose their blood,

  t trid mouter.

  i dont to lea of tortures of the grass,

  nor of ts mouth

  t labors before dawn.

  i to sleep awhile,

  aury;

  but all must kno i died;

  t table of gold in my lips;

  t i am t wing;

  t i am tense sears.

  cover me at dah a veil,

  because dafuls of ants at me,

  and er my shoes

  so t the scorpion slide.

  for i to sleep the apples,

  to lea a lament t o earth;

  for i to live dark child

  o cut on the high seas.