Listen. It is night moving in the streets, the processional salt slow musical wind in Tithebarn Street and Hackin's Hays. We walk in the narrow aisles of industry. The rain hides behind the clouds, the breeze stands still and allowed us to pass.
Time passes. Listen. Time passes.
Alone until she dies. I who kissed her once when she wasn't looking and never kissed her again although she was looking all the time.
You can hear the dew falling and the hushed town breathing
Now behind the eyes and secrets of the dreamers in the streets rocked to sleep by the sea I walk the narrow aisles alone.
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