The Last Supper I bring you an invitation Oh no, she says not an invitation Yes We are all so afraid Yes An invitation to hang up The suffocating overcoat of communication Hang it up And those with biros write upon your wrists The play contains no information Aren't you tired of journalists? Oh, aren't you tired of journalists? No one will hold your hand tonight Nor oil you with humour As the swimmer is greased to pass through Water quicker No When the poem became easy it also became poor When art became mechanised it also became an addiction I lecture! Oh, I lecture you! Forgive! Forgive! Second Prologue from The Last Supper The Last Supper 1988 "..an extraordinary dynamic between audience and play...Go and see it!" City Limits