Tracing my steps through the old house
These are songs for the dead pilots
Shake the cold off and call out
Come back we're crawling towards the end
I just love the rain, these dreams and you
Dashed on the rocks we crawl out, I'm just saying
Look at the night sky through the clouds tonight
Like diamonds in an oil pool dancing
The transparency of incidence
Pull me up, I'm falling
Sat at the window all day watching the earth move
These paintings over changing
It's not who you know but whom
My black photograph book and tin cup camaraderie
Makes a day's work for the last memories workshop since forgotten
We draw in chalk and pastels on till receipts
Trying to describe the way the pain feels
Did I mention the walking in line and hunting alone?
Sowing seeds like littering
This broken park hill bench stood on its end for surrealistic purposes
This is the last time I'll ever say these things
I'm not alone..