Ghost Track

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion
o you know what the man is saying? Do you? This is
dialectics. It's very simple dialectics. One through
nine, no maybes, no supposes, no fractions -- you can't
travel in space, you can't go out into space, you know,
without, like, you know, with fractions -- what are you
going to land on, one quarter, three-eighths -- what are
you going to do when you go from here to Venus or
something -- that's dialectic physics, OK? Dialectic
logic is there's only love and hate, you either love
somebody or you hate them.
This is the way the fucking world ends! Look at this
fucking shit we're in, man!