Stephen is at a desk, reciting. Stephen "Crate, a normil nighman Hane a freethy stipe You veen where musse is Simon Critch botty trees a wipe." I first wrote the poem from which that verse was an extract when my dear wife Enemy died. I wrote it again in 1978 after hearing of the death of rock music. I'd like with your kind indulgence to write it once more. Thank you. Stephen sits and writes.