(indistinct singing) (singing in foreign language) - Bill was a lover of people.

All kinds of people, young and old as we have learned.

And, not much of a fan of politics.

And in September of 2001, he wrote this poem.

It's called "An Early Morning Cafe."

107 stories into the air, the windows on the World Cafe served pate and poached salmon.

To diners, staring over Manhattan.

But early this September morning, the sommelier and maitre d' were still asleep in their far away flats.

Only the sous chef and banquet staff had arrived, to peel the shrimp, trim the artichokes, and wash the leaves of the escarole.

Simple work with your mates in a quiet, early morning cafe is a pleasure.

Jokes, mild complaining, a hummed tune or two.

When suddenly a berserk machine decides to murder a building with fire.

Like a badly shot elephant, the 106 stories holding up your peeling knife and lettuce dryer wobbled and shook a little while.

But when flames melted the bones, it all tumbled down on top of itself in a gray heap.

Shrimp, artichokes, escarole, 50,000 bottles of elegant wine.

And you yourself.

Unless you lept out one of the windows of the world to finish with imaginary wings the flight to the city of angels.

Humans so riddled with hate, they turned from men to bombs.

Smashed the girders under your cafe, though they'd never met you.

To murder you for the glory of God, with your apron still smeared with shrimp guts.

It was always thus.

Tried to kill an abstraction, by murdering a building from the air.

But all you kill is Bob and Edna and Sully and Rodrigo and Meme.

A building is only a set of artificial legs, to hold up human beings in the air.

And an airplane, only a sheet of folded paper.

But 50,000 bottles of good wine and a hundred pounds of fresh Gulf shrimp and Bob and Edna, and all the rest, that is something real.

If you think you've bagged the one truth, and that truth wants final sacrifice, then you've stepped outside the human race and your plane will not land in heaven, wherever you think it might be.

Heaven is an early morning cafe, wherever you are.

(gentle soothing music begins) (Anna singing operatically) (singing foreign language) (operatic singing and piano continue) (Anna continues singing) (Dr. Rieppel continues playing piano) (emotional operatic singing continues) (piano music slowing and resolving) (audience applauding)