I Think There's An Enormous Lot Of

Should I Not Hear, As I Lie Down In Dust, The Horns Of Glory Blowing Above My Burial?

Separate We Come, And Separate We Go, And This Be It Known, Is All That We Know.

Death Is A Meeting Place Of Sea And Sea.

Time In The Heart And Sequence In The Brain-- Such As Destroyed Rimbaud And Fooled Verlaine. And Let Us Then Take Godhead By The Neck-- And Strangle It, And With It, Rhetoric.

I Ascend From Darkness And Depart On The Winds Of Space For I Know Not Where; My Watch Is Wound, A Key Is In My Pocket, And The Sky Is Darkened As I Descend The Stair.