Who stands in protoplasm's thrall,
Condemned by body mass to live,
Entombed by cells, bound to the halls
Of that which takes, but scarcely gives
Such a one, whose mind is full
Of breasts and chests and flesh and butts
He is not meet, except in Bull
To speak the name of honest Guts.
Nor claim, while slave within those halls,
To know the higher truth of Balls.
Those golden rivers without fear
Transcend the lives of body's claim
And do not need perfume, nor beer,
To reach beyond mere body fame.
Then, from your mortal shell stand freed
And listen for still Spirit's call,
ANd only there, stand with t he creed,
The Higher Truth of Guts and Balls.

Torres Hordecorp Enfin
Les Chansons des Voies Plus Hautes
Paris, 1941, FrŽres Loins d'Hors, pubs.