I'd Like To Think...that People In Pubs

I Wouldn't Mind Seeing China If I Could Come Back The Same Day.

Everyone Should Be Forcibly Transplanted To Another Continent From Their Family At The Age Of Three.

In Everyone There Sleeps A Sense Of Life Lived According To Love.

Slowly Light Strengthens, And The Room Takes Shape. It Stands Plain As A Wardrobe, What We Know, Have Always Known, Know That We Can't Escape, Yet Can't Accept. One Side Will Have To Go. Meanwhile Telephones Crouch, Getting Ready To Ring In Locked-up Offices, And All The Uncaring Intricate Rented World Begins To Rouse. The Sky Is White As Clay, With No Sun. Work Has To Be Done. Postmen Like Doctors Go From House To House.

Death: The Anaesthetic From Which None Come Round.