— So what's Harold doing now?
— His idee fixe is yachts. Bigger yachts, faster yachts. Something with yachts.
— Is he happy?
— He's much too busy to find out.
I sing what I see. Nothing gets by me.
"Here I am," said I to chaos.
"I am your slave!" And he: "Good."
"For what?" said I.
Free in the end, I am!
What good is a caress when bliss...
this man came to possess?
Here I am, ready.
The trains are gone,
the brakes are gone.
And I can resist no more.
Go, sweet Βacchus, take me.
The brakes are gone!
The brakes are gone!
— I heard you.
— No, they're really gone!
