Looking back at some dead world that looks so new,
  offices and fountains that they named for you,
  dazzlements of accidents rejoice their doom,
  hari-karis spinning round the golden looms.
  
  Girl you dream infections from a nauseous heart,
  choice cut meats from derelict boulevards.
  
  Hear that lonesome whistle blow,
  no direction to be known,
  in a senile of revery.
  
  A tearful gaze turns away,
  emoting cold and grey,
  scented eunuchs clothe our wretchedness.
  
  Looking back at some dead world that looks so new,
  offices and fountains that they named for you,
  so ungrateful to the who's and what's-his-face,
  terrorist confections look so out of place.
  
  Looking back at some dead world that looks so new,
  looking back at some dead world that looks so new,
  looking back at some dead world that looks so new,
  looking back at some dead world that looks so new,
  looking back at some dead world that looks so new.