The myriad choices of his fate
Set themselves out upon a plate
For him to choose
What had he to lose

Not a ghost bloodied country
All covered with sleep
Where the black angel did weep
Not an old city street in the east
Gone to choose

And wandering's brother
Walked on through the night
With his hair in his face
On a long splintered cut from the knife of G.T.

The rally man's patter ran on through the dawn
Until we said so long
To his skull-shrill yell

Shining brightly red-rimmed and
Red-lined with the time
Infused with the choice of the mind
On ice skates scraping chunks
From the bells
~