Broken people
Broken lives
Broken times
We're a hell of a way
From where
We come from
Rodin's man
Becomes,
The 'tired man'
The slow night
Gives way
To the truth
Always more
Than can be said
Noisy people
Waving flags
Every season
Crying crowds
Dying loud
For postal regions
The centaurs laugh
Line the queues
See you there
On black Friday
For cherry pie
And disco
A Solar wind
Blows upon
A drowning Earth
A sinking ocean
All God's plan
Where the difficulty lies