Is it you I see go by the window, Jim Larkin—you not looking br at me nor any one, br And your shadow swaying from East to West? br Strange that you should be walking free—you shut down without light, br And your legs tied up with a knot of iron. br One hundred million men and women go inevitably about their affairs, br In the somnolent way br Of men before a great drunkenness…. br They do not see you go by their windows, Jim Larkin, br With your eyes bloody as the sunset br And your shadow gaunt upon the sky… br You, and the like of you, that life br Is crushing for their frantic wines.