We kicked piles of crushed Carling cans, Like dried-up autumn leaves As we wondered aimlessly through Boarded-up suburb streets; I looked at you and you looked to me With eyes absent of dreams. You asked me 'is this what life is?' And I replied 'not everything is what it seems'.
We talked between two ageing cars 'Til the streetlights came to life; You said 'you're cold and have to go' I said 'two plus two makes five'. You turned away and softly smiled With the same gaze in your eyes -- And I sat back and thought to myself So this is what it feels like to be alive.
I wrote this piece not ten minutes ago, and I can finally feel the blockage flowing down the drain and can see the direction in which I want my writing to be. I think I've painted a little picture of Northern England for you guys; I'm sorry for getting political -- it does make a welcome change from my obsession however.