Bucket - by
Phrases for the end are throwaway.
/ ‘Drop off your twig.’
/ I quite like that –
/ cock an eye at heaven in…
Phrases for the end are throwaway.
/ ‘Drop off your twig.’
/ I quite like that –
/ cock an eye at heaven in…
wear three T-shirts and one hooded top
/ layers are important
/ they can always come off
/ remember your oilskins
/ it’s always raining somewhere
/ wear a scarf
/ cold…
Silence, the burden of the song,
Resumes where winds have blasted through.
The white fields swell to the dark sky,
The matrix they are frozen to.