"I would often go there. To the tiny church there. The smallest church in Saint-Saëns -- though it once was larger.
How the rill may rest there. Down through the mist there. Toward the seven sisters -- toward those pale cliffs there.
I would often stay there. In the tiny yard there. I have been so glad here -- looking forward to the past here.
But now you are all alone. None of this matters, now, none of this matters, at all."