Choir of Young Girls: The enchanted seashores of Dali, the painter
Venus: I see an exquisite corpse in chocolate and in equilibrium … and yonder, far off, being born of the obscurity, my eyes discover all covered width ivy, majestic, hallucinating, strange enigmas.
Venus: Live women are chained and convulsed near the foot of my bed. And I see an instrument of music witch is gradually turning into a woman-the black and white notes of the piano keys change into the flesh of a woman’s body.
Choir of Men: Flesh of a woman’s body.
Venus: And there are troops pf savage giraffes whose necks are on fire, like the starry ejaculations of fireworks, in the very pale sky of childhood.
Choir of Men: (supplicating but imperative): Venus, Venus, we see your dreams but we do not believe them.
Venus: Enter, enter here-men of all kinds and races, victims of reality! You who have the thirst for dreams.
Choir of Young Girls: Thirst for dreams.
Venus: You, on life’s bitter road, drenched in hard sunlight who have the thirst that once more the dark marvel of dreams…
Choir of Men: Dark marvel of dreams.
Venus: May open their wings to you for a moment of mysterious shade, enter.
All: Enter, enter, enter.