The glass bead game had its part to play,

On that formless holiday,

And chemotherapy and surgery,

And a walk across a Lancaster field one day

When I was young and broken.

 

A skylark rose so fast I froze 

looking! looking! on my toes

catch the song flying away.

 

A stuttering of a past

that does not last 

within a rhyming chiming mind

O! that charming man, I once knew

what in hell happened to you?

 

Was it you or has everything to do with a series of dreams

that leave me sweating and afraid

one-step-nearer-the-grave?

 

I was made by the holocaust of the Jews,

a new stigmata,.

I crumble to know

what my ancestors knew.

 

Another version for you:

Just what is old and what is new?

What the hell should we do?

Who do you love?