on a cold November night
back in a fog
back in a town
I lay on the floor
the curtains drawn
no light
and sang

a spontaneous song
was spontaneously sung.
i never played it to anyone.
It was before my ascension.
It is my favourite invention.

It had one line:   n o   m o r e


I plead. I cannot take this beating. Have mercy. No more

Or I am full. I am sated. I've had too much. No more.

Or I am spent. I am drained. Nothing left. No more.

Or  I resign. I give in. No resistance. No more.

Or I demand. This must cease. I command. No more.

Or I mourn. It is gone. The light, the love. No more.


It came to me, now and then, through the years and years after.
The simple melody. The simple words.
I sang it through machine gun fire. 
I sang it in a bar, through a glass, like a cunt.
I sang it through this morning, for no reason, except... no more.

It was a terrible song. Hardly a song. I never took it out to play.  
It was my best.