Call to me oh, cannibal, when the heavy work is done. Call to me a liar, and a beggar, and a son. Call an angry officer, untelivised, unsung. Call to me the serpent's tongue, to tell me I am young. Call to me a roof maker, some rain is leaking in, past my fear and past my courage to the puddle in my brain. Call to me my bedroom floor to see it all undone, and my cupboards are all empty except for one. For the day, the sun will rise, and for tonight, my sorry eyes can see the reason that we call it, Masquerade.