The horror, the rain,
The misery, the pain.
The factors of teenagehood
And its ghostly being.

From nasty rivalry,
The silver teardrops quench the
Hunger of discaring boys.
They move on to their next victim.

Words like love, hate, *****,
Are thrown around and toyed with.
Teenage socialism is a witch,
Sweeping misery across the generation.

Heartbreaking, the look in their eyes,
Well up with tears, victims to lies.

Teenagehood, it grasps you
By its crooked claws.
From your peace, it rips apart
Your soul and leaves damage in its trail.

Why do we have to suffer?
Why can’t we return to the world?
The world we loved and cherished.
Toys and songs, now perished.

Puberty, hatred, fear,
They all add up to one phase in life.
With its treacherous fangs.
Hurt from distrust brings misery near.

With sympathy to all,
For a long journey ahead.
Hold on to your sanity,
For the reason you have previously read.

You're daring enough to have ventured into the night,
he sounded delirious in the wispy light.

Half a mile across the lagoon
moondrunk Ridleys in ghostly shadows
would be digging holes in the sands
to lay their lives for posterity
away from the phosphoric melody
leaving the orphaned to find their way
once the shells cracked under silica.

They look like a procession of mourners,
the man whispered between strokes of oars
sloshing the rising tides of the channel
his deft hands rowing the fastest
cutting across the half mile to Cuthbert Bay.

The night ripened enough by that time
unfolded the crawling shadows from the sea
slowing time in frameshot motions
of rows of celebrating marchers.

Dead of night the stars were burning out
and I called out to the boatman.

To this day I don't believe what I heard.

None was ever ferried back by the boatman.