There was a time, before all this,
of moonlight dreaming and a stolen kiss.
Reckless weekends as a roaming pack,
snarling to force each Monday back.

It never mattered that we'd rise,
at lunchtime, with ironic eyes.
Or worry that we had to vote -  
we held our freedom by the throat.

But then the music starts to skip,
a symphony more 'Dad' than hip.
You can't remember when you traded,
******* in for IKEA's pages.

Those forgotten relics of a bygone age,
lost in a corner that was centre stage.
A flickered memory of a neon soul
and the dying heart of old Rock N' Roll.

Until one day, an ageing hound,
you find you're back in canine town.
But nothing breathes familiar scent,
the perfume of your youth is spent.  

So through the mist you track your flaws
and paw the earth with blunted claws.
Announcing with a strangled howl,
that you've returned,
to the wolf pack prowl.