THE COLOURS WERE GRAINY BROWN AS YOU WENT DOWN,
THERE WERE DARK MARKS ON THE BACK LIKE A HALFWAY FROWN,
THE HILLS UNDULATED WITH BEACONS FOR ALL TO SEE,
A REMINDER AND KEYNOTE SHOWING WHERE YOU WANTED TO BE;
PERHAPS THERE HAD BEEN NO RAIN FOR A LONG TIME,
BUT WHEN IT CAME, WAS LIKE A LONG LOST FRIEND OF MINE,
IN TORRENTS, WAITING FOR SO EVER IT COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN
LIKE THIS BUT WHOSE TO SAY WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MISS;
YOU DON'T KNOW IF IT'S ENOUGH TO SATISFY YOUR THIRST,
AND WHEN DO YOU LAUGH - MAYBE ONLY WHEN IT HURTS,
ONLY WHEN IT'S NOT OVER, YOU RETURN TO THE BEGINNING,
IT'S ONLY REALLY GOOD, HELD IN LIMBO, WHEN YOU'RE NOT WINNING;
YOU WERE TOLD TO GO FOR IT - ACHIEVE A ZENITH BY ALL MEANS,
BUT WHEN YOU WERE DRY, YOU REALIZED IT WAS A FIGMENT OF YOUR DREAMS.