Pretty girl under coverage of a plaid jacket
Not conformed as the rest
They have lit the fire originated from a spark in her eye
Contest the predicted end to a desolate world
Instead lifted spirit reunites with what she never had, but was always there

A mud-brunette haired woman still beneath ocher skies is undeniably under the enchantment of a man's demise.
His voice weary yet comparable to thunder crashing when the sound waves dig into her ears and bang against the inside of her head.
A fallen Prince of Darkness is the man who would sew a slight patch onto her heart. Unknown to be a conniver when distressed, culprit of the fall-apart.
Demented knowledge correlates amongst hardened truth deemed to be full of light now lay empty, never-ending quest between the forgotten and the tyranny.
The woman with a channel of thought strategic in her efforts to place out of the normal forget-me-nots.

The rain lets up as the sirens start
One world fell in two parts
Remarks silently spoken of reality being broken
Idea recoils further into isolation ruled by false allegations
Under exaggerated hyperbole transcribes the true feeling hidden above the covered-up abomination

I believe that I hold quite the odd point of view
A skewed portrait that depicts economic conspiracy
Religious beliefs are delightfully delirious
To seek inner peace by a supernatural relief
Entertainers and politicians are elite due to masses of followers
Society's slaves to the system hustling for dollars
Only to pay their leaders

ill swallow
my words
ton by ton
and choke
on every
single
one.

The sun shone bright
on the Saturday afternoon
as Helen put her doll
Battered Betty

on the bombsite rubble
off Arch Street
near the coal wharf
and sat down beside you

(crossed legged)
peering
at the bombed out ruin
of a nearby house

wonder what it felt like
being bombed?
she said
I mean

one minute
you’re trying to get
the kids to sleep
next minute

a ruddy great bomb
blasts you all
to Kingdom Come
you offered her

a sweet candy cigarette
from a blue and yellow packet
don’t know
you said

but my mum said
that when she was home
with my gran
during one bombing raid

they hid under
the kitchen table
with her baby niece Carol
Helen sat opened mouthed

her hand holding
the hand
of her battered doll
anyway

you went on
my mum’s stepfather
( her dad having died
from TB in 1936)

was under there too
but my mum said
he had his backside
sticking out

from under the table
as if
that was unbombable
Helen laughed

and so did you
bet it was horrible
to be bombed
she said

but I would have hated
being evacuated
from my mum
even for a day

she ******
on the sweet cigarette
held between *******
and stared

at the ruin
with half a roof
and two walls standing
revealing wallpaper

on the inside
of one wall
my gran said
you continued

an old couple
next to them
on hearing
the air raid siren

began to run
toward the bomb shelter
in the garden
when the old lady stopped

and the old man said
what you looking for?
my teeth she said
and he said

they’re dropping
ruddy bombs
not mince pies
Helen spluttered

into laughter
almost on choking
on the sweet cigarette
don’t

she said
I near wet myself then
and she clutched her doll
to her chest

patting its back
there there Betty
she said
it’s only a story

and you looked
at her small hand
tapping the doll’s back
the fingers tight together

love in each tap
a good mother
she’d make
you thought

with schoolboy love
looking at her profile
the thick lens
spectacles

the plaited hair
and her small hand
going tap tap
on the back

of the battered doll
in her flower skirted lap.

Another chance, a new approach
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

What else is waiting there? (x2)
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

So, take your time, enjoy the ride
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

Yeah, enjoy the ride...while you can
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

For you never know
What else is waiting there
Waiting in the wings for you . . . .


Refrain:
Dare you hasten your destiny?
Only to regret your impatience . . . .


What seems to be boredom now
Is simply biding grace time
Waiting in the wings for you.

And that is not so bad at all
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

For you never know
What is waiting there
Waiting in the wings for you.


S T, 30 April 2013