Where the bombs in my head go off, one after the other,
Making spouting neurone fireworks (touch blue paper and retire to old man resignation dotage where wrinkles conspire to make a map of Mars on my face)
That's where, in pleasant green hills grandfatherhood, I will look upon my golden retinue of children and children's children.
The perpendicular gothic of stone beams and concrete arches will be a part (apart) of the defining way (a road to, an avenue between).
All happy then, indescribable joy descends.
Pick the meaning of the preceding, there's something there for all of you.
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