The wicked, wicked man.
He took my clothes, my shoes,
My money. My leather wallet
He found it funny. But he took it anyway,
He grabbed it all and then he ran.

I could've caught him if I could stand,
He took the ring right off my hand!
And my new sunglasses, he tore them off
And left me lying in the sand.

Ah that man, that wicked man.
Couldn't some kindness been shown by him?
If he had to rob, couldn't he be gentle,
Instead of smiling his wicked grin?

I didn't see just where he went.
You see, I couldn't quite move my head.
I would if I could, but dearest reader,
I assure you I am quite dead.

The sharp angles
Of the skyline
Cut my eyes.

I turn away
And fall on to
A passing cloud.

But fall right through it,
And as I fall,
The ground is smooth and patchy.

I see birds,
And little dots going about
Their business, peacefully, below.

And now I am peaceful,
And now I wish
That I had not fallen!

The ticking of the clock
Made me look up;
But instead of its face
A protruding pair of batteries.

I turned it around,
Set it right.

It stopped.