The quiet sadness of the people of the North

Echoes silently around the cold grey places

Ecstasies undared

Tremble upon the edge of the tightly, respectably unfulfilled

Who drink to excess in order to forget what never happened

Brave faces

Well dressed ordered minds on suicide's edge

Reflected in the rain-skimmed slate grey, battleship grey, hardship grey



[Blue grey]



And further South, and homeless

Here I am

Globally altered and dishevelled

Oh darling, I've done it all

An antithesis of sorts

And yet bound together and hopelessly in love

With the inevitable loss

And the end

How can we run from ourselves