From somewhere, the sound of dancing
No blood is flowing, just red birds
Hitler was a British Agent
As if a fire was flickering gently
They bring us crushed fingers
Pigeons
A thousand years ago, the angels say
She climbed to the third floor
Her last words wandered across the ceiling
She glanced up from her creaking rocking-chair
The children work hard
Your return is overdue
Day has cast anchor in the shadows
I have heard the sobbing of angels
Two thousand cigarettes
Now I will change water into wine
A lady lonely as a rat
Birdcages flew open
No fiery writing on the wall
Mad New Zealanders
Above the fields the wires hissed like iguanas
In the name of the father, the son and the holy bank.
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