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Tens of cloud lambs await. They are to sail the skies, resting anxiously by a heart-shaped boat, with an oar in the form of a cello in it.
Before departure, there is a swim across the Styx to be done. Patience shall prevail til going ashore. Futher strength & partial immortality could take place. Yet all wonder.

Tens of cloud lambs sat with me, listening to arias of love & deceit, of sorrow & fraternity. They kept themselves silent, with eyes closed to sense the notes & savour the smoke from our cigarettes better. They asked for the one who will command the boat. They would like to know how far they will be taken. They want to be told how far with them I will go.

Tens of cloud lambs will walk with me tomorrow morning. They are going to mention the discomfort from leaving the boat by itself. "What if she comes?" they will be asking. "She would never depart without her crew," I will answer.