I’ll say to Dante and Virgil what Coen said when he stood before the Lord of Song. With a frosty breath I’d save just for them to take back to you. And they could tell you how it was they found me cast in the ice of a lake void of light at the bottom of a well. And perhaps then, before the fireflies scatter before the sapphire skies. Whilst the dew on your lips remains warm and sweet. You’ll think of me and smile.