We walked down the street,
Sharp and cold.
Past the drunk flasher
And the broken boys on bicycles.
London, blue and orange,
Gives in to winter nights like I
Give in to sleep;
Guarding myself against the dreams
That always, always come.
But through exhaust fumes
And chemical hazes,
I still see the blinking Christmas lights,
And the pale death of autumn
Feels like my resurrection.