Friday, December 14, 2012

Up there in the attic floor
If I were to write this song in my closet
Soft and warm continuing wet
Tapping on my roof and she claws.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets

Via Heathrow through America
enchanted by the young rooters
one of them was a slasher
Only the Luise with nothing but scar.

To England where my heart lies.
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