Reading lyrics from gray-headed body he ran me over
For all the books I put him through.
Cold faith dries blood on the nib and
Time is dropping short of intonation.

Now I own the chance to go through his pockets,
lay hand on some days and buy
the 10th of December
just for a breath to shake hands with the king,
mend my old pest with the Nobel
and win a million dollar ride
to the other side.