(For my sister, Joanne)
Slowly the days pass.Buses, cars, bikesall roll away, away.She is gone, down a shady street in shiny shoes.Way above, vapour trails burn the skyand way below, scars burn the land.She screams, but I can’t hear.In another street, the new suits,suit themselves, and colours burn red and gold.Noisy bastards. Shut up! Open up! Give her back.
A ghost slides up next to meI fee ...
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