Liverpool Street

Dear listener
Mister Henry Spychalski is exhibiting extremely volatile behaviour
There is a confluence of long standing abandonment and rejection issues
With mythological and quasi - biblical delusions
Expressed in long, rambling narratives
[Hoo! Ha! To The Door!]
Punctuated by song and dance
Apart from the standard diagnoses of narcissism, depression and acute psychosis, I believe that the incident that we refer to as 'The Event' has triggered a dissolution of the distinction between symbolic and real figures in his mind
Where'd you go?
Sometimes
I catch
Myself
Falling
Backwards
To where
We said
Goodbye
On the concourse
Running late for
Your plane just like
Always, always
I don't notice
My tears til the
Ticket man asks
Am I okay
When the smoke clears
And the doors close
Wave to me from
The train windows
I'll call your name
For the last time
I will love you
'Til my last breath
And in death I will go
To the church where we made
Vows that we couldn't keep
While the children we made
Held the train of your dress
Of the dust on the floor
There where happiness lives
I will sleep forever more
Lover, hold me
Memory, haunt me
Take me back to
Liverpool street
By the time you hear these words
Maybe I'll be over you
Until then, I'll wait for you
With unshakeable patience
I'll wait where you left me -
By the trains - at Liverpool Street station
It is most likely in this petri dish
That the worm was born
Patient strongly believes
-And is perhaps correct in believing
That he's the only one capable of killing the worm
and that this is a necessity for salvation.
He made the Worm.
He has to kill the Worm.