Lowry, Malcolm: The Drunkards
The Drunkards (English)The noise of death is in the desolate bar Where tranquility sits bowed over its prayer And music shells the dream of the lover But when no nickel buys this harsh despair Into this loneliest of homes And of all dooms the loneliest yet Where no electric music breaks the beat Of hearts to be doubly broken but now set By the surgeon of peace in the splint of woe Pieces more deeply than trumpets do The motion of the mind into that web Where disorders are as simple as the tomb And the spider of life sits, sleep.
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