He spends his time or maybe half of his time. Or part of the time wandering. 'Round the creeks and cobble stones. Of hackney lanes. . With a tear in his eye.
Someone's telling the toll to me. I'm cut and I'm weeping like a rubber tree. But I don't care who's left behind. Lost revelations that I'll never find.
There's a place I'd like to go somewhere out west,. it's not specific, and the pictures show it best.. I know there's trees I know there's sand and I know there's grass,.
Here, you focus. So I can see your faces. The eyes are wrong. How will I know if it's working right?. . Light confuses. The tiny isles of bruises. The mangled lines.
Hey I found a whistle that hangs like a charm,. and when my noose is tied I could blow it. and fall down into your arms. 15 centuries of dissolution and grief,.
Mild apprehension. Blank dreams of the coming fun. Distort the odds of a turnaround. Gut screams out next to none. . So turn it on, tune it in. And stay inert.