The moment is lost,

In the vastness of these little islands,

In the nooks and crannies,

Of parlours and snugs,

Where lobsters keep secrets,

And witches dance naked,

Buttered crumpets seep through tabloid papers,

And cold tea is forsaken.

 

Pumped around these islands,

By flammable blood,

In concrete veins,

Through the never-ending rains.

 

All this time we’ve been apart,

I’ve still not made it to the heart.

 

Been on the roads for years,

Rear-view sunrise in my eyes.

I thought that in the end,

I might earn some kind of prize.

But the only prize is rain,

And a quiet kind of life,

Under a drawstrung cagoule,

Like the ones we wore at school,

On trips to the cotton mill or Chester Zoo,

Where keepers made the rules.

 

Hear the rain tap,

On the lunchbox in your lap,

The shadows in those trees,

Are contaminated with disease,

And have teeth made of time.

So drop your ninety-nine,

Let your helium tiger fly,

Go and hide with the others,

Where you might well survive,

Until they feed you to the darkness,

To keep themselves alive.