The bell rings . . .

It's a decade past my decadence

My beast wears rings and he's waiting

In the shadows of my hesitations, my silent

Hesitations . . . Each image is so clear;

It seems I have no hands

The gestures of the air confuse all my demands



And the beast hears the bell; he comes

Out of the shadows. He rips apart the shadows . . .

And he says: