I'm not myself I am the actor Waiting the cues Unknown direction From unknown directors Actions that haunt The invisible audience See me, In the reflection As I saw you This distance means nothing It has to be nothing Final performance Redefine the actions Come back as a flower Come back as a rose Through the ageless void Through the camera eye We are all the same I know and you know This is rehearsed This is rehearsed He travels by night, journeys without destination in cold buses and cold patrons without features He wonders if indeed they are anything like him without identity or soul, berift of purpose, condemned to exist in the small hours. Not real people at all, rats and maggots incapable of keeping the rhythm of humanity, sent alone to survive outside the hive. Distinct from the dealers, pimps, burglars and filth, at least they posess a crass purpose, fighting for urban surival amongst themselves. Contaminating Lambeth street corners under pestilential night skies they retreat among dawn light bleeds through clouds and the city stirs from slumber.