Think ye on what might have been,
and dwell on the reminiscence of a passing prosperity,
which as a flaxen cloth is wrung,
passes to the obscurity of memory.
So sink to the shadows - ye might have been great.
Sigh and divulge the substance of your bodies,
rise, turn and stare.  The land groans,
from the labour of many, rises and falls,
to the beat of begetting and dying, while the begotten die,
and the dead beget some more,
to ache their heads and till their beds,
and carry on for a little while longer.  
I sat today and listened to the Angelus on the radio -
because what else was there to do?

'The,' 'sod.'

WHO ARE YOU?
I am he.
WHO ARE YOU?
I am he.
WHO ARE YOU?
I am he.
WHO ARE YOU?
I am he.
WHO ARE YOU?
......
WHO ARE YOU?
I am he.

My mind is silting up,
which is rarely helpful.

There was a man,
about whom it was said,
that he was near enough,
but could get no nearer.

or otherwise.

With sticks.

Please slow down,
can't you see I'm driving an old *** cart along?

To live under,
for a while.

without socks is bad for the general health of the World, and should be avoided.

I'll drink a second cup of coffee.  
I'm just that bourgeois.

In God's Holy Trousers

Things happened.

Just about.

So, O2 are now 3.  
Thank you for telling me that, 50202.
They are going to keep me posted on changes.  
I can't wait.