In the autumn on the ground, between the traffic and the traffic and the ordinary sounds. I am thinking signs and seasons while a north wind blows through.
Love, where is your fire?. Ive been sittin here smokin away. Makin signals with sticks and odd ends and bits. But still theres no sign of a flame. . Imposters have been passin.
I have this sinking feeling. Something's weighing me down. I am completely saturated. The waves are crashing closer. My feet already drowned. Doing the thing I said I hated.