others seem to carry on and on
see them out my window
enjoying life lovin’ the sun
how they do it i do not know
me i keep well in the shadows
there was a time once
when i would sing to the moon
but to do that now would destroy me
those days have gone
guess it must be the gradual
accumulation of all that has
gone before that has led me
to this which begs the question
as to what is to come
no ice cool rivers of plenty
or walks in the hills with
the airs of spring freedom
washing through my hair as if
it is my first day on earth
more like the spikes of age
pokin’ into my shoulders
they will poke me, poke me hard
each day spikes runnin’ riot
with their jokeless pokin’
- from London Works
