elbow
scattered black and whites
Been climbing trees I've skinned my knees My hands are black the sun is going down She scruffs my hair in the kitchen steam She's listening to the dream I weaved today Crosswords through the bathroom door While someone sings the theme-tune to the news And my sister buzzes through the room leaving perfume in the air And that's what triggered this. I come back here from time to time I shelter here some days. A high-back chair He sits and stares A thousand yards and whistles Marching-band (Boom-ching) Kneeling by and speaking up He reaches out and I take a Massive hand Disjointed tales That flit between short trousers And a full dress uniform And he talks of people ten years Gone like I've known them all my life.