One week early
Paper cuts and illness scratches
A new smile on the scene and
She’s banished her to bed
An eternal thread pulls on my skin
A cry for help from home
Vodka makes me sway like sea
Grey smudge forms and frowns at me but
After three months there’s nothing to see
In that same old place I know
White light blinding number seven
The silence starts to maul
Breathless from a laboured life
For us you’ve done it all
Tracks are an escape route
To a picture directed by grief
Tied and gagged squirm smiles and laughs
No reason to believe
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