One man dies by the whip of the hand,
One man dies by the whip of the brand.
Both men die for a sniff and a grand.
The gutterman smiles behind us.
One man dies, one man kills.
Another man cries, another man spills.
“More blood?” says the shadowman, “They’ve slain us again.”
“But another man must die for the new story to begin.”
So one man dies, and another man sins.
One man dies between the screen of a star,
Three men burning like a swindler at a bar.
“More blood?” says the shadowman, “How have they done this again!”
“You know it,” says the gutterman. “This is the story of men.”
So another man dies in the cycle.
“Excerpts from the Windowsill,” page 203.