" For your brain is alone now your passion goes,
And your coloured dreams run cold
And there's nothing left but a gaping skull
On the spine of the wounded world.

But we are well! O sailor! sailor!
O we are very well!
Do not tremble as you stand, O frightened sailor
For death is so mean and small.

It snatches away the burning breath
And it snatches the useless clay
But what can it do to halt the square-rigged
Soul as it steers away? "

― Mervyn Peake , The Rhyme of the Flying Bomb