when i’m up, i’m always up and down, ambitions run aground / i go out among the shuttered homes above the cobbled stones and darkened doorways / when i’m home i can hear the church bells ringing, still calling me out to greet the sun / all alone i can hear the choir singing, pack the bags and tickets cos i’m done / when i sleep, over bars under sheets, i hear them toss around, their limbs become unwound / it’s a shame that anecdotes are gained when scenes are rearranged and carbon dated / it’s a lie: the people on the quay are packing up their days in gilded boxes / when i’m home i can hear the church bells ringing, still calling me out to greet the sun / underneath my feet the pavement’s singing, pack the bags and tickets cos i’m done
