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 suicides edge reflected in the rain skimmed slate grey, battleship grey, hardship 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?
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