"Have you not seen enough of the lies of men?"

All stop and turn. That is unwanted. That is unneeded and uncalled for.

A figure of eight, the old twist and the turn. The modules and manifests and the bill of materials. The list and the manifold, the joints and the sockets. The knuckle bends and washers. The grease on the pipe. The unending noise. The black of Sunday. The men and their toys.

All this can be measured and sold.

But that is uncalled for.

Come in and around

They ride hard. The last days are upon them. They finally recognise the terrain. It sings to them as an old refrain... welcome home children, come in and around. Peace you will find here in a walled garden your parents' parents built... peace.

But one rider is worried. She pulls in on her own, allows the caravan pass her by. She knows the rules have changed -- nothing can ever be the same again.

This is not home.

In the light of day

It looks the same, to be honest. For when was there last a true night? We now have arc lamps and halogens and fluorescent tubes. And always the Captain's one Gorged Eye.

We need never again fear the dark.