Your the twelve light along a cold white wall
A broken fuse on the paddle Steamer of a
Theatrical life a switch in which Im already well verse
as I’m mocked for miss spelling red
Whilst I read diamond palms
So I won’t do that again.
Always up late waiting for the paper talk
delays set to start at one minute to six
and I already know I can’t fix this situation
even with red phone and time.
reeling back on heels and a sitation
on a already taped recorded mind
As i paddle amongst dried valley’s searching for
Others that choose fences to see comets
Waiting for the bunker clue in the already Submerged.
Post eighties drip dry Murcurial blue
Pull it apart and then rewire its head
Platters for its naivety and its new bed.
Sleepwalking through history
And binning prescriped meds.
