Try and picture something different, to what's behind the window
When the sun rose, rosy-fingered that morning
summer solstice sing-a-long, kids playing, garden gatherings
Even when the clouds gather, same scenes, new ambiance
That nostalgic smell of rain on the concrete, and you think of family
the old summer days, in Nana's back garden (and the one holiday you vaguely remember but only that smell, and the sound of wood pigeons)
So you lay on the freshly made bed in some kind of silence
And you try to sleep but it's tiring
then you start to cry and the only explanation is that you accidentally thought about your father at work and somehow that made you sad
But, and so, you wipe away the tears and sit back at the vacant desk
Gazing at the faded screen
and you log into OkCupid and scroll through an impossible list of beautiful people with interesting lives and you close the window and you close the windows
Standing there gazing through the wan window (wile old Wilde) and a bright yellow helicopter flies by to some emergency rescue and you turn away and think about your thoughts until you think you thought too much but realise you thought too little about the thoughts that matter
And you stop for a second and turn on some music but ten thousand songs is overwhelming and you turn back to the window
and the rain is easing

Your brother slams his bedroom door and tries to sleep but the light from the Xbox is enticing and so he turns on the laptop
YouTube is endlessly entertaining to a child, he messages friends between videos of people playing video games
and so his friends come online and the Xbox gets a workout if the children don't
Hours pass and the sun hides behind a sandstone structure
Snoring from the next room, where you have succumb to the loneliness of the window
You brother never sleeps, there's no time
Besides, the room is too hot and summer nights are cruel
So the window stays closed, keep the bugs away
Heavy curtains crouch on the bed and hide the seasons, hide the passing nights, hide reality

It's midnight on the street below the window and an infant is crawling on cigarette butts thinking no thoughts
There's an agent on the corner that works for the Eye, and he's watching the windows
So cars pass intermittently and kick steam from the day's rainfall into the face of homeless kids that play football all night, like so many sun drenched favelas at the rocking equator
Drunken men stumble home and **** light posts and letterboxes, collapsing on themselves before the wrong front door

But, and so, anyway the birds rise early in the summer
and the streets are dried in promising dawn light
The drunken men re-adjust their ties and head to work
and the children all fall quiet, hidden from informants
when they should be at school but instead hang around corner shops
and tell pensioners to buy them ***** and Amber Leaf
The sleeping depressed wake and make cheese on toast
fall down the stairs and sleep in a sticky heap by the letterbox
and these lives continue on ever more
but that's just what the window saw

Summer is alive, the barbeque's on fire
But I aspire,
to be far away
There are children screaming all hours
along the sweltered streets
and cars breeze by, families get high
Lawn mower doldrum paradise paradoxes
I look at flight information on a melting monitor
Enter bank details
and the system crashes
I'll never escape
Three generations pass the window,
chuff away on branded cigarettes
These are truly the end of times
The claustrophobic city closes in
and I'm gasping for breath
through the intermittent smoke rings
That I am exhaling into the sky
The societal construct of monetary systems
keeps me imprisoned not only in the town of my birth
but in the mind of myself, a jail of superficial self-annihilation
I am consumed by I
Ego choke-hold, harder to breathe in the heat
Harder to pound these city streets
We need that cash, we need that (government) cheese
We need freedom of wealth to breathe with ease
I feel like Hannah, turning towards prostitution
or Malcolm in subversive ****** and sadomasochism
I feel like dying
I feel like the drifting away
I feel something
I feel it, I swear
Today I am here
But I feel like I should be elsewhere

By the canal in British summer rays
Talking a lot to waste away the days
In your black leather reigns
Adolescent growing pains
You exist too loudly today, pull away from the sun
Tight starry wristbands, and you've only just begun
You've read Proust so many times, you believe it all
From the adjacent garden, you hear your Mother call
There's insects caught on the updraft
Floating away, you see the life-raft
With heavenly swans on board
Some alabaster hooting hoard
And the boys in tight vests
Run away from your pert *******
You would give chase too
Only if you caught them,
what on Earth could you do?

Be there at nine
on the corner by the old post office
wear something red
I'll be somewhere, that's what he said
He pays to watch
He loves to watch

Walk for me and make it ****
That's what he said
She wore a red dress
By the post office
At nine

He watched from the balcony
of the apartment complex
She was wearing red
Eye catching
The eye, admiration

She walked the avenue, red dress
Eyes watching
He paced the suspended floor
Eyes watching, always watching
Find the bag by the burnt bush
Take the cash and leave

Ebon gold dust on the meek city sky
Night calls again, another day to die
Agents in the field,
serving the shield
Ours is not to ask the question why
But to serve the master of the all seeing eye

Hazy laced days, pacing beat street
Casual demeanor, keeps me discreet
On a mission
of sedition
Characters in a play, live in conceit
Serving their secret masters of the downbeat

What mysticism is this, that the bluebird fly by my window
  and wake me from peaceful slumber
That the apathy of a summers day can be repulsive to the few
  who fail to appreciate the eternal beauty of rest
That juggernaut engines rail by the sidings of the city
  and shake the Earth that mothers our day
Or that persistent devices buzz and ring and beep and cry
  on the tabletop by the window, as the bluebird fly by