We are all capable of such extreme,
Easy self-deception,
Such arrogant vanities –
Aren’t we ?
The plain truth was always that
The words which we scratch
With broken-holiday spades,
In drying sand;
The shapes we construct
Between tide and tide;
That we daub so righteously
On the division walls
Or broadcast to the electric winds
Across the wireless world
Were never meant to last!
Or … ?