Where are the heroes of the rain? There’s a live one carrying a
dead one in his mouth, that’s very tough work. It seems to me
his feathers have gathered too much dust. He doesn’t have any
idea where he’s going to put it. Ah, for the days of robust ana-
chy! A driving chaos! He staggers into the corner. Trapped, he
climbs the wall. The very same wall once walked through the 
sunken keys of the universe, all headlines contained in his veins.
That’s nearly impossible, isn’t it? Beneath each hawthorn tree sits
Nathaniel Hawthorne, I’ve never seen a live one climb a wall
with a dead one in its mouth.  is that true? No! Well, now he’s
tuckered out, that really took it out of him. It is the American
twilight, and some child is reading The Book of Records with a
tear in his eye. He puts the dead one down, walks around of
course of course in circle in circle he walks around in circles
of course of course in circle. I killed the dead one and now of
course of course I am going to kill that crazy live one.