Tag Archives: mental-health

Why Do People Hate This Way?

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I don’t understand adult wickedness
Troubled violent people in a mess
There is no scope for a clear reason
To exist within or near their circle
The terror they bring, what on Earth
Is their meaning? The evil intention
Scares their victims to shreds
Blood runs cold, blood runs freely
When the violence begins bluntly
Pressing on a vulnerable body
What hatred in their hearts they hold
Sinking to the gutter.
Seeking only the power
To control to terrify to kill
Leaving deep scars on hearts
That are not ever meant to heal
Confusion hurt pain
That lasts for months, years
Why do such as these hate this way
Ignoring the consequence
Flirting with a prison sentence.
Flinging fists, strangleholds
Pinning down their victims
Scum is not even a suitable name
For the attackers have no shame.
These have no feelings, what game
Are they intending to play?
Stalking their victims each and every day,
Menacing those who were made scared.

I am not cut from the same cloth
I have no violent intent to others
My offerings are tenderness and care,
I could never strike someone weaker.
It is cowardly to hurt a child or woman
With fists, big hands, kicking,
I vomit at the sight of them
Harming less strong and abled victims
Every day I hear of husband anger
Turn to merciless cold danger
The child beaters are everywhere
Like a curse that turns sour our very air
Regular slaps, put downs, insults, punches
Clearly such revolting men and women
Have no love for their spouse or children
Have no real capacity to love
Only themselves to distraction
The evilness to seek satisfaction
Through dishing out pain and humiliation
They are worse than wild beasts,
Depraved souls seeking subjugation
I don’t lower the standing of humans
To thinking perpetrators of violence
Are anything other than gutter trash
Why do such people hate this way?
I don’t understand the where for or harm
Nor do I waste my time wondering why
What happened to their humanity
They despise goodness and decency
Their abuse and threats met only
By the weight of the law occasionally
These low life escape retribution
Which would be more satisfactory
More fitting to match their savagery.
From where does my anger come
Is there a latent nest of confusion
Settled within me waiting to emerge
When I learn of people violence urge.
Is it because someone has been angry at me
Or have I witnessed too much pain really
Caused by violence to vulnerability
Towards men women and children
Too weak to resist superior strength.

For decades I have actively protested 
Set up support for victims of bullying
For really people violence is bullying.
Bullies can only be satisfied by the pain
They inflict on their weaker targets
Such is their grim satisfaction and yet
They have no shortage of victims
To speak to people who were bullied
Maybe in childhood through neglect
Or active violence, threats, put downs
By adults parents teachers clowns
Maybe attacks by partners spouses
Those you thought you could trust 
The destruction is almost complete
The scars from the pain go deep
Why do such people hate this way?
My meagre words of empathy
Seem so pathetic as I listen keenly
To those who have received violence
Those gratified by punching, the consequence
They are wilfully blind towards.
Not a moment of feeling inwards
Occurs to sociopathic man or woman
They have no love towards another 
Only contempt hatred disdain no other.
The idea of a killer who likes the feel of blood
Oozing between their savage fingers
Is fascinated and gains a carnal pleasure 
Watching their victim fading from life
Wanting this control using their knife.

My disgust towards the perpetrators
Sometimes is raw indignation
Absent of sympathy or tolerance
Such violence forced upon weaker souls
Penetrates my heart leaving holes
That need the healing of the universe
Revenge towards the bully is tempered
By thinking of repercussions
Towards the victims of assault and battery
No need to bring the week more misery.

Childhood traumas caused by hitting
Last a person all their life through
It lives within them always, it is true
Abusers, child haters, wife beaters, bombers
Will find no understanding within me
My instinct is to be between victim and bully
Is profound it will move me to action
To provide in some small way protection.
Whether Israeli bombing of innocent children
Or domestic torturing of victims
My ire will grow quickly towards them
The givers of violence I show no kindness
They would not understand niceness
For they spit upon those they harm
They despise those people they hurt
They try to squash them into the dirt
For some there is no escape, not today.
Why do such people hate this way?

What It Is to Be Without

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Without what? as I have been without I don’t know.

Feelings of being so small knowing no one notices me,
From an early age I learnt the harshness of adults,
Making me feel at once, unwanted, now – unworthy!
I was born 10 months after my elder brother 
Clearly, I was not planned, nor wanted, I know.
Playing second fiddle to my older brother 
Filled me with frustration and certain anger,
I was the also ran brother, arriving unwelcomed,
Early memories of sexual abuse cast down 
My feelings of self-esteem – what is that?
I was often shy and blushed for no reason,
My needs were unmet and love was deprived 
No one took what I said seriously at all, why?
I don’t know.
My love of music at an early age spurred me on
To ask for a guitar for my birthday to learn on.
I was given a plastic toy guitar to play upon.
The disappointment of not getting a real one
Made me go through the floor and down to hell
It was the worst birthday I had ever had.
No one took me seriously no matter what I said
These were the early days of feeling rejected 
It is why I take rejection or people saying no to me
In a rather difficult way – but I cope steadily.
I was ripped away from my best 2 friends
at the age of 5 years – the harshness of adults.
Because my family decided we were moving
I felt a kind of shock like the sky just fell in.
School was tolerable apart from the petty rules,
But my family were never acceptable to me 
I knew I was not accepted by them anyway.
When I reached about sixteen I discovered poetry
I have been scribbling away ever since really.
None of my family wanted to read my poems
They thought I was going a bit funny
so they shunned me, and my poetry.
Does a marriage bring with it being wanted?
Yes, it does – but I never felt wanted by my wife.
It is a feeling I have had to live with all my life
Being unwanted, what does this really mean?
A 30 year marriage built on sand
A precarious existence with many interrogations
Accusations - not believing a single word I said,
Female friends of mine were tracked down 
By my ex-partner – but I don’t know why,
Because I never knew at the time only years later,
Treated with indifference and coldness when 
The old jealousy got the better of her,
5 years of no affection, no contact – destroys;
Living all the time feeling as if some catastrophe
Was about to happen – so I had better watch myself
In case I cause more reasons for the questions questions questions
Wantedness is the cornerstone of my happiness
I have yet to feel whether I am being wanted 
So this causes great sadness.
There is a pain that sits neatly in my chest
Makes me feel like an unwanted guest.
I have anger inside of me under control
It never appears publicly 
It is there just smouldering calmly without relent
In private I have displays of anger
Shouting until my throat hurts.
Some say I am a kind, nice and caring man 
And then they take advantage of me 
Thinking I am some kind of mug asking to be done.
Feelings of being so small knowing no one notices me,
From an early age I learnt the harshness of adults,
Making me feel at once, unwanted, now – unworthy!

I’m in Rapture, the lake will save me

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My arms are outstretched and very wide 
As I try to capture you floating nearby,
Your rays of sun are hitting the backs of my eyes
And the dance of angels are just starting,
There are cascades of lights warming the air
As I go wandering in and out of clouds everywhere,
So that you can explore what the world wants of you,
Are you surprised the world takes notice of you;
I am not!
You are in the infinite variety of words and song,
I cannot choose the best of them, I am always wrong
But with you within my measure, I can feel right again,
I dance on the worn out ashes of time and space
I cannot joke with the moon nor look into its face,
But with you inside my private surrounds I can smile
You are the woman who is not content by taking a mile,
There are consequences for not being as one ought to,
I can’t explain it only revel in what was brought to
My attention as the sun sinks below its reason,
“Can you shoot me?” was my plaintive cry out loud,
There are words meant for horizons in unwanted colours.
Can you tell between lazy motives and love itself?
I have explanations in each of my pockets
And none of them made any sense, because my mouth was hidden.
Did I tell you about the warm sunny meadows inside my head
A thousand maybes if I didn’t but it is better isn’t it, instead
When I’m in rapture the lake is there to save me, cool me,
Stepping outside the grasslands and into the desert sands
Not bothered by the heat melting me, but I understand
You are not really there, you are outside of my warmest dreams.
 Don’t give back all the words and songs I have given you please,
What will I do with them now they are used up, worn, old, shabby,
I prefer you as you are in strong womanhood you make me happy.

Well Hidden

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I hide my light under a bushel
For I do not exist
One day I will desist
I am in my tortoise shell
Moving slowly as hell
I refuse to put my head above ground
I move around slowly without a sound,
I did not say anything today
Tomorrow I won’t say much anyway,
There is a rhythm to be hidden from view
I look for it always or for something new
But it is well hidden
No light now and then
Could shine upon this nothing space
It isn’t as if I am in some kind of race
Did I pick this way of being nothing
Or was it because time was chiming?
And the days were getting shorter
The nights doing what they oughta
No surprises could creep in here
The dark makes them disappear
I am well hidden from the world
I tuck my head in it won’t be spoiled,
With the everyday marching ahead
It’s why I don’t want to leave my bed
Stay under the covers all the time
hoping the day goes away from mine
and your ways of looking outwards.
The silence was beyond being awkward
When I emerge and destroy the paper
I am writing on with a poem proper.
I write them but they are well hidden
From the moment they are born
Inside my head and to the well worn
Keyboard or pen, each word from me
Is splashed in the open air calmly.
Did I need to be hidden all these years
Hiding like my father, shedding no tears
As he passed into another realm unknown,
How could I have copied his well renowned
Hiding in a shed at the bottom of the garden
Hiding until his last day arrived and then
No more, he is now well and truly hidden.
In fields of daisies there are delights
That entice me back into the light
I look for the butterfly and the bee
They constantly fly right passed me.
But the caterpillar is well hidden
Waiting for its day before heaven
Where it flies all around hidden places
Going passed the familiar faces.
Is this where the rhythm I seek
Has always been, I am so weak
As to not understand the living way.
I don’t speak much everyday,
The tongue remains quiet and still
I want my life beyond free will
Where the energy is used wisely
Where I’m not saying – Surprise me!
When I’m deep inside my coffin
The mourners won’t see me within
They won’t know if I’m really there
Being well hidden is all I can bear,
I am the reluctant soulful hermit
Who hides almost out of habit.
When I was at school I blended
Into the grey, wishing it was ended
Invisible was my usual dearest wish
I am well hidden, but not a cold fish
In the moments that I do emerge
Meaning floods the floors submerges
All those days I was without me
Washes them into the boiling sea
I’m well hidden not wanting to be
Not knowing how to escape, be free
Of the restraints that are all around me.
I am well hidden
Did I do this for some good reason?
Am I a target now out of season.
This earthly plain is presented
As there is only this, pretended
Living down a deep well hidden

Never Mind, It’s Not Due

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I just missed jumping on the bus
But I have the wrong trousers on
So I let it go passed me really
Crossing the tracks so early in the day
Never mind it is not due
Sad old hag on the line 
I won’t wait for another bus 
The embarrassment is too much,
I have inkwells in my pockets
They are filled with feathers
What do I do with them – red faced am I
Never mind it is not due,
But etching in the sand will never do
Because each character is only half seen
My ears are full of ice cream
And my desk wants to sail away at noon 
But the sails are not ready 
Besides I have lost my compass
So I will go Sainsbury’s instead
I will make a nest in the middle of my bed
And invite the pigs in for a party,
Did I really have my hair with a middle parting
Never mind it is not due
But then neither is the glue
When it is stuck inside the tube
I have given my television 
A nice set of floral curtains
To match my thinning hair
Well, that is what I think, I don’t care 
There are beetroot stains on my underwear
Don’t ask me, 
I don’t know how they arrived there 
Sitting in the sky avoiding the kites 
I laughed out loud
The trees joined in too
My shirt has baked bean sauce all over them
I am not amused
I take off my clothes and sing the National Anthem
Saluting as a I go
Never mind it is not due.
With pencil gripped in the wrong hand
I am poised to spew
Out words that are anchored in anger
In deepest rancour I spit out the words 
I drive my car into the buttercup field 
And I briefly watch the lovers
I turn away looking for sanctuary
There is an oak with green tassles
Beckoning to me 
“Turn on your smile, ignore the hassles”
What? This tree is talking to me,
Too many pills that is the cause
Songs were seeping from behind my back
I really must find my new desk
It is somewhere out to sea 
I need the shipping forecast beneath me
In straw hat cane in hand I hear Leon sing
Ain’t Misbehavin’ now there’s a thing
Ain’t possible because I only want to sing,
I have a ladder in my inside pocket
I am going to paint the Pope black
See how he likes that
Never mind it is not due.
No new prescription for me
It is too much trouble anyway,
There are songs attached to my feet
I lift each one and a different lyric I can see
Meet me on the corner, treat me,
There are verses in my hair
What the hell are they doing there
I will place each one where they belong
Each with their own rhythm sublime
I am gardening with my teeth
But it is taking too long I will nod out
On this string of white powder
Never mind it is not due,
Did I write to myself today,
Must be a bad memory,
My toes are like bright torches
Showing me the way in to the darkness
I am whistling, hands in pockets
Nonchalantly without a care 
Touching each bud on the rose tree
I praise their effort and they believe me 
never mind it is not due,
this treasure we call air 
might one day disappear 
watch out be careful
don’t let the bastards take it away.
I can’t use plastic daffodils
As love tokens for Christ sake
What was I thinking of – oh the insult,
Maybe they should be plastic red roses
My calendar suddenly caught fire 
I just stared in awe, drooling.
Each cigarette was painted in bright pink
But when lit they turned green
Strangest thing I have ever seen 
With my calculator in my hand
Mobile phone in my mouth
I feel I am now ready to take on the world 
God forbid, are you just talking nonsense?
Never mind it is not due

Fragments

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My mind does that – you know thinks in fragments
The memory plays with fragments, small moments
Many days I have are fragmented by moods 
Drifting here and there and god knows where 
Why do I try to combine the bits I will never know
Because they don’t fit together correctly, so
I waste my time fixing this one thought with another.

Fuck it they won’t go here nor anywhere I can see,
Reluctant to throw them away I store each fragment
Until the weight of them cracks my reserve, I cry
Then the fragments mysteriously all join up without me
Doing a damn thing to them, leaving me wondering
What the hell was all that about – I will never know.

How can a life exist in a fragmented world of pieces
Of thoughts memories dreams and nightmares 
Why does the fragmentation happen anyway?
To conjure confusion, sorrow, long forgotten
Places where I once was but cannot now remember,
For I have not been here before nor felt this way
Maybe I need to submerge myself in music and poems.

Go deep into my spiritual character shun the heavy stuff
Throw off the blood stained cloak dripping on the floor
Where all the knives were shoved into my back
Without me hardly knowing not feeling anything,
The cloak I want to see fragmented dead lying
On the floor gasping for air as I walk away again. 

These verses keep on coming, what do you think?
Deeper than the usual – as I look under a tall pile
Of fragments – the knitting of the parts long gone
Into a past that wasn’t really me anyway, who cares?
The scars from the more jagged fragments a reminder
Of the faces of those who broke all my fragments
And throw them asunder and played tricks on me.

Pretending they held all the pieces in their hands 
And telling me they would hand them to me one day
At the right time and place but it never happened.
So I sit here looking at all the fragments knowing 
I can never mend them or put them back together,
Fragments rule the day and will not move over. 

Will I ever learn to cast down all these fragments 
Or will I have to learn the same lessons over again
All the time wondering where each piece has come from;
They want to be going somewhere much better than here
I know it I can feel it – when they reach their goal
They will form into perfect patterns of happiness
Pleasing to the eye uplifting of the heart no less.

It is then that I will understand why my life’s in fragments
Of what I really wanted and in the way I wanted them.
No more the fragments of promise no more deflection
But a large colourful picture of life as it should be
Something to be admired, something to be lived 
In profound solid foundation, giving away nothing.

You Can’t Metamorphose a Narcissist

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this poem’s title was inspired by Salvador Dali’s famous painting –
Metamorphosis of Narcissus by Salvador Dali
To be in their own little world people of the narcissus trait
Wallow in self pity and try to attract attention, straight
From the lower depths where feelings cannot exist.
The emptiness of such a person is filled with fantasies 
They go looking for their prey for their odd practices.

They look for the vulnerable and people of low self-esteem
Overwhelm them, make promises and become Mr Charming 
they ensnare the innocent to become their latest victim.
With smile on face and words of trickery they are rewarded 
With the money, sex and adulation they obsessively covet.

They say over and over to their victim “I love you” even though
The only person they are capable of loving is themselves.
They can not love- they do not love - they have no capacity 
For loving another human being – even their parents they despise
They become angry and childlike when a parent meets their demise.

They can not grieve – for they do not know how to so they copy
What other people do to give the appearance that they are upset.
They do this to attract attention to themselves and away
from the deceased showing again their complete lack of feelings,
the trait of narcissus is a danger to the unwary who have feelings.

Out of earshot and away from the presence of their victims
The possessor of the narcissus trait laughs about his girlfriends
Behind their backs – he delights in denigrating them to pieces,
He says they are pathetic, not of any real worth, in the end
He jokes with his friends about how he treats women he beds,

Lying is like breathing to such people – he feels it is essential.
When he tires of his victim he goes cold becomes more hurtful.
Nothing in his locker would make him the most popular person
So he invents a persona of charm and persuasive arguments,
To capture another unwary innocent and then controls them.

Such a person is to be avoided at all costs and for sanity;
Once they have their hooks in you it will be for eternity.
They have no wish to let go of anyone they try to possess,
No matter how many times a victim tells them to go away
They will not – for they think the victim wants it this way.

Time and time again such a person of narcissist character
will maintain contact no matter the victim says they never
want to see them again or want to go back to them again.
Any contact for the narcissist is gratification in and of itself,
Because they feel self-important contact is all they want.

Pity then the victim convinced such a person can change,
They can’t like the leopard’s spots, they won’t it is strange,  
But they don’t want to change, they are not doing wrong 
In their own eyes – there is nothing wrong, they are convinced
Their bad behaviour is what their victim really wants of them.

Be wary of the holder of the narcissus, they lie about everything
They will say anything to keep their victim hooked like an addict
They will go along with the idea of getting treatment to keep hold
Of their victim, they can convince anyone they mean to change
But deep inside there is no real desire it is unnecessary to them.

Picture the victim who through being too kind waits for change,
In reality, they have a very long wait because it will not happen,
A victim is wasting their time, their life; their chance of happiness.
Remember, no one can fix a person who does not feel they need fixing,
You can’t metamorphose a narcissist, it is a hard and real fact of life.

Like the Dali painting of the metamorphosis of narcissus
The portrayal of the egg held in hand and the head bowed down
represents the closeness desired by the abused and the abuser,
but the desire is toxic in the abuser and the abused finds out
in the grossest way that can be possible between two people.

The hurt and pain mixed with a deep love of the narcissist
Will remain with the victim all the time there is contact,
The narcissist knows that and will exploit it to the full
They know their victim can not help it so they will fool
Their prey into thinking one day they will be different.

There is nothing to be gained whilst in a trauma bond
Only a mixed-up mind, hurt in the heart and heaviness
That the victim carries around in the forlorn hope of love,
There is no love in the narcissist only deep self-love
Impenetrable, unreasonable and full of obsessiveness.

Why Do People Hate This Way?

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I don’t understand adult wickedness
Troubled violent people in a mess
There is no scope for a clear reason
To exist within or near their circle
The terror they bring, what on Earth
Is their meaning? The evil intention
Scares their victims to shreds
Blood runs cold, blood runs freely
When the violence begins bluntly
Pressing on a vulnerable body
What hatred in their hearts they hold
Sinking to the gutter.
Seeking only the power
To control to terrify to kill
Leaving deep scars on hearts
That are not ever meant to heal
Confusion hurt pain
That lasts for months, years
Why do such as these hate this way
Ignoring the consequence
Flirting with a prison sentence.
Flinging fists, strangleholds
Pinning down their victims
Scum is not even a suitable name
For the attackers have no shame.
These have no feelings, what game
Are they intending to play?
Stalking their victims each and every day,
Menacing those who were made scared.

I am not cut from the same cloth
I have no violent intent to others
My offerings are tenderness and care,
I could never strike someone weaker.
It is cowardly to hurt a child or woman
With fists, big hands, kicking,
I vomit at the sight of them
Harming less strong and abled victims
Every day I hear of husband anger
Turn to merciless cold danger
The child beaters are everywhere
Like a curse that turns sour our very air
Regular slaps, put downs, insults, punches
Clearly such revolting men and women
Have no love for their spouse or children
Have no real capacity to love
Only themselves to distraction
The evilness to seek satisfaction
Through dishing out pain and humiliation
They are worse than wild beasts,
Depraved souls seeking subjugation
I don’t lower the standing of humans
To thinking perpetrators of violence
Are anything other than gutter trash
Why do such people hate this way?
I don’t understand the where for or harm
Nor do I waste my time wondering why
What happened to their humanity
They despise goodness and decency
Their abuse and threats met only
By the weight of the law occasionally
These low life escape retribution
Which would be more satisfactory
More fitting to match their savagery.
From where does my anger come
Is there a latent nest of confusion
Settled within me waiting to emerge
When I learn of people’s violent urge.
Is it because someone has been angry at me
Or have I witnessed too much pain really
Caused by violence to vulnerability
Towards men women and children
Too weak to resist superior strength.

For decades I have actively protested 
Set up support for victims of bullying
For really people violence is bullying.
Bullies can only be satisfied by the pain
They inflict on their weaker targets
Such is their grim satisfaction and yet
They have no shortage of victims
To speak to people who were bullied
Maybe in childhood through neglect
Or active violence, threats, put downs
By adults parents teachers clowns
Maybe attacks by partners spouses
Those you thought you could trust 
The destruction is almost complete
The scars from the pain go deep
Why do such people hate this way?
My meagre words of empathy
Seem so pathetic as I listen keenly
To those who have received violence
Those gratified by punching, the consequence
They are wilfully blind towards.
Not a moment of feeling inwards
Occurs to sociopathic man or woman
They have no love towards another 
Only contempt hatred disdain no other.
The idea of a killer who likes the feel of blood
Oozing between their savage fingers
Is fascinated and gains a carnal pleasure 
Watching their victim fading from life
Wanting this control using their knife.

My disgust towards the perpetrators
Sometimes is raw indignation
Absent of sympathy or tolerance
Such violence forced upon weaker souls
Penetrates my heart leaving holes
That need the healing of the universe
Revenge towards the bully is tempered
By thinking of repercussions
Towards the victims of assault and battery
No need to bring the weak more misery.

Childhood traumas caused by hitting
Last a person all their life through
It lives within them always, it is true
Abusers, child haters, wife beaters, bombers
Priests of yore, present day politicians,
Will find no understanding within me
My instinct is to be between victim and bully
Is profound it will move me to action
To provide in some small way protection.
Whether Israeli bombing of innocent children
Or domestic torturing of victims
My ire will grow quickly, towards them
The givers of violence I show no kindness
They would not understand niceness
For they spit upon those they harm
They despise those people they hurt
They try to squash them into the dirt
For some there is no escape, not today.
Why do such people hate this way?

It’s Like Talking to the Devil

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Vintage illustration of from an 18th Century Chapbook. English Folklore, Mother Shipton, Ursula Southeil an English soothsayer and prophetess. Talking with a Witch, Devil and warlock flying brooms
I hear you say - are you a psychopath, am I a psychopath?
You have trodden on my heart and scooped it out
And taken it in your hands and thrown it all about.
The jackboots you used upon me bruised my soul,
You left marks upon me: but I wanted to be whole.

Destruction was the name of your game, I can tell
You used and abused my soft heart and sent me to hell.
You took advantage of my generous caring ways
And gave me the blows, the shouts: I was so afraid,
Fear is the very core of my being, for certain.

I know deep down your reasons were only trite excuses
You used the chains of fear and took advantage
You were to be king over my dented half truth life
I was putty willingly in your pitiless grasp and fist
You sent strange messengers to my brain covered in mist.

At first I could not hear the messages said
It was like entering the garden of paradise, dead!
You made me ask the question, what is the fucking point,
This is no way to live, sure was no way to die, in joint
Misunderstanding and mis-directed threats and cajoles.

I was used and abused by those who I thought loved me,
I was so badly taken in by charmers in sheep’s clothing
I was prey to the wolves, who wanted to eat my brain
I bear the inner scars: I am not letting happen to me again
I wish only to jump ship and take to the waves of uncertainty.

I want to find a desert island somewhere that would protect me
I don’t need or deserve this kinda shit, no way, no how,
I am my own person, I want to live well always and now
I did not come into this world to be someone else’s plaything
Nor do I want to be a punchbag, a skivvy or a slave to your whims.

Circumstances has been my keenest low companion,
String me along, locked in chains, like carrion
Lying in a field helpless with no way to ward off beaks and claws
I was left lying in tears bewildered, but what is the cause?
I cried a thousand rivers that flooded my perceptions.

I called out loud to God to relieve me, he was not listening!
I battled the devils that railed horribly against me
Through the tears I saw distorted faces I didn’t want to see.
Through it all I hung in there determined to win,
Against outrageous misfortune, at least I am still breathing.

In Sad Rooms

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These sad rooms are sitting with me
The seeds are scraps of paper
For me the writing is nearly over
Long tall shapeless the words be.

The skeleton rooms are growing dim
I sit through the calm
Whilst raging within
My sweaty palms
Are guiding me in
I’m wanting the eyes forever

For long is the night dim is the day
Like forgetting the only rhyme I had
For you are the smile I’m not so gay
You have a wooden life – not sad.

These rooms are sitting in calmness now
My empty eyes are not glowing
But please give me one last chance.
As I sit within my knowing.

I can’t sit I have to move 
For the world is crazy without
I need the anchor I need the wind
But don’t ever let me out
I see your skirts I am your blouse
I want to get into your mind
Don’t let me drift don’t let me dream
Because I don’t want to be a friend.

The sun it drifts and the sky is mixed
My mind expands with a whim
You are in the midday of life
And I can’t seem to ever win

Don’t smile, don’t cry, don’t even breathe
For I am driving into the wind
The hills are steep and I won’t keep
Because the light is keeping me still
Don’t cry, don’t speak
For God’s sake don’t keep
My ears are bursting again.

The sky is mean but the sun is clear
I shan’t drift into you with a cloud
I am the river the rain the speed
So why don’t we write a rhythm
I am so slow, slither I am on the go
So please give a – come now!
Go now!
Please listen to me
Come in come thither
Please listen in
Tune in to me is my hearing that keen
The moon is dancing with us now.

Your voice your eyes
Are in my device
I want to keep them forever
Please let me skate
Please be my mate
We shall sing the song together 
We shall sing the song together