A waste of chess

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    I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
‘Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?’
                                         But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
‘What shall I do now? What shall I do?’
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
‘With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
‘What shall we ever do?’
                    The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

Thomas Stearns Eliot, The Waste Land – A Game of Chess