What’s happening feels like a story
You run towards her even though you know it’s too late
I am not sure what this means or what it will mean
As the man dies she does not know what to do
Standing in the Rain
My neighbours’ gardens
Which is to say, go fuck yourself
Some said it was Satan, others God
In small rooms with small light and small breaths
I would prefer to be nice
Various Churches
Egg
Chairman, The Sad Bastard Club
The sound of clanking tracks
They have fitted me with harness and saddle
Potatoes
That night the sea went out and the beach was broken glass
The wind rose up, we knuckled down
Rorke’s Drift
They are taking down the last tree
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