I take a breathing space
to find my place
somewhere out there,
just in case
I run out of time.
The needle points less
to pointless pleasure,
I stick it to me
what
joy,
what treasure.
On the carousel
I go round the circus
we call hell and can you tell me
why this is so?
But is this a sequel or a prequel
or just the interlude? or
is
this real time in the breathing space?
The clock face tells me another tale
of seagulls flying,
of ships and sail
and a Martinique where lovers seek
the holy grail.
I race on but time outstrips me
and in the script we
did not see,
penned there in red ink
the words,
'don't you ever think we'll let you go'
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
I take a breathing space
to find my place
somewhere out there,
just in case
I run out of time.
The needle points less
to pointless pleasure,
I stick it to me
what
joy,
what treasure.
On the carousel
I go round the circus
we call hell and can you tell me
why this is so?
But is this a sequel or a prequel
or just the interlude? or
is
this real time in the breathing space?
The clock face tells me another tale
of seagulls flying,
of ships and sail
and a Martinique where lovers seek
the holy grail.
I race on but time outstrips me
and in the script we
did not see,
penned there in red ink
the words,
'don't you ever think we'll let you go'
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