It is not so bad to be thought of as a tyrant None so sad as a lover in the spring Though the writer in you keeps a recent journal You say nothing to me Tell it in a wash of pink noise in small room Turn the other cheek when lying on the lawn Sweetness fading into nothing after nothing I went running in the fog Became so small now in a cold sea treading water When the head dips low unfocussed underneath Though the writing always keeps my mind from closing Ready for this new release As he walks alone southward down St Kieran's Opening the locks and turning on the lights Sweetness fading into mourning after evening Willie's gone but here with us all tonight