Aug 2017
From November 2012..it will soon be the cold again.
dedicated to the memory of Grant Burford, the Giant in the beanie hat.
It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays, where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.
A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul,
buy me gas for a lighter head, words said, spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,
no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound,
without a sound or with no sound to hear
her eyes quite clear in the evening air,
laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.
Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces, broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie, yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.
True story, the Giant in the Beanie hat knew the girl, one of so many people he helped, I didn't cope well with the situation and it was later that the irony struck me, well **** me, should I judge a ******? he never did.
dedicated to the memory of Grant Burford, the Giant in the beanie hat.
It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays, where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.
A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul,
buy me gas for a lighter head, words said, spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,
no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound,
without a sound or with no sound to hear
her eyes quite clear in the evening air,
laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.
Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces, broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie, yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.
True story, the Giant in the Beanie hat knew the girl, one of so many people he helped, I didn't cope well with the situation and it was later that the irony struck me, well **** me, should I judge a ******? he never did.
