All the things that I ran from
I now bring as close to me as I can
Gripping hotel sheets with gritted teeth
My montage of lost things
My shining trinkets of grief
Why don't you give me a call?
Open my mouth, yes, I'll take it all
And all this work gone to waste
You made me climb, then you shut the gate
David Algernon Bayley, Florence Leontine Mary Welch