Nobody Knew The Iron Man Had Fallen.

The World Rolls Under The Long Thrust Of His Heel. Over The Cage Floor The Horizons Come.

The World's Decay Where The Wind's Hands Have Passed, And My Head, Worn Out With Love, At Rest In My Hands, And My Hands Full Of Dust.

I Shall Also Take You Forth And Carve Our Names Together In A Yew Tree, Haloed With Stars.

It Took The Whole Of Creation To Produce My Foot, My Each Feather: Now I Hold Creation In My Foot.

The Real Mystery Is This Strange Need. Why Can't We Just Hide It And Shut Up? Why Do We Have To Blab? Why Do Human Beings Need To Confess?