For dverse. No, it doesn’t make sense.
The starry sky is out of reach,
A windswept hill, a lonely beach,
And did he dare, wise Mr Nietzsche,
To eat a peach, to eat a peach?
They say the world spins round and round
Upon its axis, not a sound,
Yet Zarathustra spake and drowned
Orion’s hound, Orion’s hound.
What stars! What dark and purple light
Pours down to decorate the night
With spikes and spears of hate and spite—
I hear them fight, I hear them fight.
The constellations wheel and leap
When we’re abed, but if you peep,
You’ll hear the humming moon and weep.
We’ve murdered sleep, we’ve murdered sleep.