Matador up the sands are scribbles the runaway transplanted story.

The machines powered up the canning plant

Now in overdrivethe frayed feathers

the frisbee tin pies it wasn’t supposed to be

oh your honey lips stung during a world record

the rin tin tin

that’s  an anonymous Analogue

you came undone in the carpet shop picnic.

the rooms spinning I’m living its life stories

and having to carry your lies

like a over weight child on my back

you might not even live to see the man I am 

in this space movie adventure its wide its open

the receivers the diamond pass

the grass is not greener

well it depends on your definition of grass and greener

take your chances take your time

I’m sure I will see you again

so how was your trip there and back again of the hills

glass of milk and a cookie ?

Friends and advice

look I shall let you in on a secret

there is no secret and no one and mean no one knows

what went on then…… Unless you keep feeling the need

to keep on talking to people you don’t know down the telephone.

That desire to make your real life story’s into television dinners

ring ring ring

let the machine get the message

it remembers you

remember you left your name on the answerphone

at the start of your island adventure

right wrong I’m not there at the start so I wouldn’t know

thats the problem with whispers those that spread them lose control

Lottery numbers rescue remedys

the tides out the waves riding in

lines on the sand that wiggle

The runsways light up

for your journey home

maybe the

the script is a recipe

on pie baked in a tin can