cancel the car to number ten such a thick fog rolling in I played my cards on unreal glass I left the party next to last Friday night to Sunday morning
am I only dreaming or is this the kelvin parade? watching a winter sun slowly drift into the shade leaving on Sunday so tired and alone a westerly service
the garden sliding past is overwhelming receding though an unreal windowpane through watercolour mornings by the newsagents to nights we carry, carry
