On the antique wooden desk that I carved my plans on, stirring his coffee with a cigarette, swearing at the phone. Do you still have hopes of (opening a duchy?) An army of servants to make your tea? Parties, banquets. Or are you just pretending? Sarah shuffles through the tiring ball. Wednesday she plays (darbo?) (Landed the stocking at a day in the wall?) Wants to be alone. Do you still have dreams of that billionaire who'll carry you away to his fur-lined lair? A penthouse with diamonds. Or are you just pretending? Marlon mutters that his names are lost. Sets the teaboy trembling. Barks a remark about Bonita's past, sniggered at the slaves. On the hot trail of these superstars, there's a bowl of lovers in the mud. They leap as he drops them. Marlon's just pretending. Me, I'm going to get out of this place, I'll smash these chains to pieces. I'll flee the den of dark disgrace, I'll lead a great crusade. See the tower guns crack, see the mines cave in; they'll burn effigies of me, I won't feel a thing. I'll snigger as I sizzle. Or am I still pretending? It's so nice to get away for a day or two. Let's pretend, let's pretend that we're fishes in the sea. Making love beneath the covering