Monday, September 26, 2011

Now it's getting dark
And the sky looks sticky
More like black treacle than tar
Black treacle
Somebody told the stars
You're not coming out tonight
And so they found a place to hide...

Now I'm out of place
And I'm not getting any wiser
I feel like The Sundance Kid
Behind the synthesizer
And I tried last night
To pack away the laugh
Like a key under the mat
But it never seems to be there
When you want it...

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