The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Wearing:
Skin: Natural Beauty (for TDR Blue — this skin is very nice; it’s rare that I’ll take off my League skin, but I really like this one)
Hair: Wasabi Pills (modified)
Coat: LeLutka
Shirt & Tie: NinikoBoy
Trousers: Ducknipple
Boots: Treads
Gloves: Hermony
Glasses: Super Possessed
Cigarette: N326
Poses: Glitterati, hmaem
Words: T.S. Eliot
