Saturday, 5 April 2014

Part V

The wind on the side of the cash machine
Was like a old tape been erased wrong
So the grinding of the songs been deleted
Sounded like words been cut off
Almost out of sequence,

Leaving the helps and the buts missing
So the stutters became more than a pause
Rather than a new kind of cry
Lost in translation over the wind

Flickering over the quays
Never to be heard again

Until next time I passed
when the flames danced in the air
like plane landing lights. 

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