Tekst
He came by in his funeral suit
In an open-hearted shade of blue
Asked me what I like to do
On a July evening
To Bermondsey or to Shoreditch
I said, "I don't know which is which"
The night's a thread for him to stitch
For me, the unbelieving
In the end, we just stay in
And gesture with our mugs of gin
Dance around this borrowed kitchen
A stop-and-start dumb show
I am a cold filament
We advance in tender increments
Between the past and future tense
Test the weight of both