No one knows when men became bored with
  Places too large for them:
  The clocks all ran down at different times,
  The doors will not swing to
  Not even the ghosts would stay
  And it's hard to see how anyone
  Had much of a lay on that bed
  Or why a chair faces somewhere mindlessly
  And if they knew their
  Pictures lied as much as our TV
  And if they seemed as beautiful for being lies
  Not so distant from their givens
  As their fairy-castles are from ours.

  (Residenz, Munich)