Hand in the snake pit, black mamba chase. Head through the lion's cage, head on a plate. Two feet on the hot coals, last dance at the ball. Blindfold on the tightrope whenever you call.
Small child messing down, messing down.. in the streets of Bombay.. Cities like this have no shame, no shame;. indeed, why should they?. Out in the middle distance, several tragedies are playing..
She's catching the wind: the gentlest of breezes.. It's a sensitive passage she's sailing -. Through stormy straits, navigates my unfathomable failings..
Have you ever stood in the April wood. and called the new year in?. While the phantoms of three thousand years fly. as the dead leaves spin?. There's a snap in the grass behind your feet.