Barking brainless, empty vessel.
A crispy wind that strikes a nerve.
And his heart feels heavy.
Lost but still inclined.
He doesn't know why they take the food,
and he never seems to ask for more.
Take you down, surround you in an open compound.
Take me to the sea, emancipate me on the shore.
It's always in a minute you see,
I'm just letting my food go down.
Sometimes I just want to see,
the silence of day.
Suburban decay, and cold photographs in May.
Or on any other day
The beach-hut barnyard silver shivaree,
the beach-hut master's dark profanity,
gold heart miners of banality,
the beach-hut barnyard silver shivaree.