Sometime in September,  I was invited into deep water whilst my life jacket was on rent. There was a woman on the radio, and an insect on my forehead. I named him a her, confessed purity and stabbed my best friend. Sat under a burning tree, with a woman whose name escapes me. She stands up and leaves. Ah the curse of being useless.
Other than those muddy boots I would wear, I own nothing. And the politicians out on patrol, they have the papers, they have control. My radios screaming still, "we can’t afford the toll"