Speeding through the citynight

Is the rhythm of the lights the movement the sound and the echoes,

behind a glass;

like going back, in, time.

Your so-called, or maybe wished, lover’s voice heard

behind the depth of golden wires.

Again and again we like to slip around town,

but is so far from home! Yet it feels like one.

And you see the cracked walls, the yellow light inside, and your child inside looks over the rye, his heart bouncing drowned in joy all around.

He suffers from the English disease, and you just enjoy it right?

Is 1995 again.

Author's Note

It has been a while

Reviews

[Demi Rose]

reading this was a blessing for me.