Salt air, so sweet it sticks to me.
It sticks in my throat. All holow gestures.
Still I breath them in. Back here in another run down concrete simile of something that used to be, of what was, but now in truth is not much.
Do you remember Allende, do you remember when tired eyes could rest?
Welcome to perfect holidays. pack them up and start again.
Digest c**ture, choke back indignity and turn back to close circled memories.
The statick eye guards jealously. So I return to this, my safe harbour, where it's more than trust, less than hate.
Is this the day that I die?
It sticks in my throat. All holow gestures.
Still I breath them in. Back here in another run down concrete simile of something that used to be, of what was, but now in truth is not much.
Do you remember Allende, do you remember when tired eyes could rest?
Welcome to perfect holidays. pack them up and start again.
Digest c**ture, choke back indignity and turn back to close circled memories.
The statick eye guards jealously. So I return to this, my safe harbour, where it's more than trust, less than hate.
Is this the day that I die?