A darkly comic piece about a man who enjoys his work.
Too many people know my secret: it's time to get away and think.
I'll take myself down to the basement and work out what I should do next.
It's warm and quiet in the basement: I go there when I'm in a fix.
The walls are covered with my paintings. I have a desk and several chairs.
The world can't get at me: I close the door on them.
No-one knows where I am.
Just down the back-room stairs, I keep the lights down low
So they can't see me working....
I know they're laughing at me. They think I'm really stupid.
They'd better watch their step!
When they come to the back-room, I'm just behind the door,
Listening for their footsteps.
I will creep up behind them and drag them down below.
No-one will hear them dying.
The walls are solid concrete, and I will throw their bodies
In the incinerator.
I'll sell their clothing and their jewellery: I know of men who buy such things,
And spend it on an airplane ticket, maybe to India or Tibet.
I'll study Buddhist meditation. I'll do my best to be a monk.
I'll find a temple with a basement, an incinerator and a desk.