Dozens stood in lineWearing tattered clothesWaiting for a movieThey’d seen too many times
Here on the thirty first floor
We can see the rain of missiles
Flowers of orange and black
Blossoming in the suburbs
Final orders are given
It is difficult to tell
When the Seraphim have finished
Plucking quills from their wings
Again again again
With their inky tears
Long time now since I last
Wound the chronometer and
Pitched the sextant overboard
Smashed the compass so that
I could lose myself in you