In Derbyshire the sound did rush
by parody that power
and its quietus made exquisite
workmen reeled the whole orchestra
touches property to self-defense
the front door said the roof is lost
and the day is wet,
to give up and to be given
into grit pain on the beach
towel pavement to inspect
to bring closer dying
they never crease to show
they've never went in the face
yet living and you don't
always get what you want
living plenty til empty
our friends crowding to the
blood-banks gel ringed against
a city our skin is to pacify rags
taste of dogs filial pathos
like a fence line defending us
from that fridge-freezer incinerator
you that air cavity ran up
by smoke the exhaust sparks
to blares fire fed us as we inlay
the empires water frame