You are worn, dear Peter
And pained like the cries upon a
battlefieldWhere do they go? Growing intense – a mechanism under skin that twists in coiled movement
I know the hurt.
Clock chimes
Three, then six, then nine
Twelve
Silent striking, inviting, I hear it calling
Here come’th the hour
But you will not die today, dear Peter
Sweet Peter
You will not die today.