The winds of change are blowing over the hills and storm clouds gather with momentum

For a moment we stand on the bridge

And look at the torrent below us

We observe the destruction caused by the gale

Before taking shelter under the bridge

Like transients we pick meat from a carcass

On a polystyrene tray

I dream of the archer and Aphrodite

Making out to the sound of tubular bells

In rape fields on a summers day

Its good to be away from that room

Where it’s always ten past three

And the voices echo along the insipid corridors

Its too vanilla for anything to be created that has bite

We trade collector’s cards of the illuminati

Whilst drinking shots of vermouth

From silver goblets

Still the rain falls

Beating out its rhythm like a metronome

We try to peace notes together to make a melody

That we can recognise

The rhyming couplets don’t gel together too well

And the tune gets washed away

Once the music is gone and the lights have faded

All we have left is shadows of memory plastered on the concrete walls

And we pray that this shelter doesn’t become our tomb.