peter hammill
fogwalking
Everything clumsy slow-motion, I look for the source. Buildings loom up like icebergs On collision course. I don't want to go in there, I just want to be alone, Unpick the stitches of time In London In the no-go zone. I've been kicking around like a dog, Lost myself in the blank mass of fog, It's some kind of service. All humanity's fall-out is there, Slumped in doorways And mouthing cold air - I have heard this. Fogwalking, fogwalking. Since the curfew The streets are half-dead, All the good folk asleep in their beds, It's so easy to go off the rails When the fog spores Are breeding inside by head. Fogwalking: there's a presence that I sense Fogwalking: the neck muscles tense Fogwalking: it's right here inside me, Try to find a defense - oh, no. Fogwalking through the wreckage, Fogwalking through the worm-eaten Night Apple, Fogwalking through what used to be Whitechapel.