A minor 7th

no mirror could reflect octobers grey eyes

no sky to hold its stars much less father a field

no meaning in its music which is birdsong and surf

no prophet in its sails no blue in its lagoon

no july in its june

no movement on earth as it hurtles ever on in darkness unmanned

no resistance to irresistible temptation …let it have us then

no scales to weigh good in one hand and evil in the other

no beautiful poem will shelter us from moloch or magog

too many words have been spilt already

too many warnings too many promises

too many times we wait until its too late

too late to tango too late to tangle with fate

too much bullshit not enough milk

too much fallout not enough bang

too much work not enough money

too much money not enough planet

too hot to be really cool anymore

too cool to be bothered  too detached to care

too soon too soon

soon the age of the elemental

soon the age of the child

soon the age you can fight in my  war

would you like one two or three…?

soon the fish will be hooking and cleaning themselves

soon the birds will fly away with the clouds

soon the east and the west will meet for dinner sometime

oh sorry it was all a mistake

oh good lets all be friends

oh thats all right for you

oh help me please i’m lost and alone

oh no i’m alright

i’m just a small boy on the wrong bus somewhere

its cold and raining outside

i feel the quiet and darkness

surround me like arms